


The Tale Of Dark Forest

by Subtle_Shenanigans



Category: Original Work, The Tale Of Dark Forest
Genre: Battle, Blood, Cheesy, Death, Echo-casting, Edited Work, Furry, Gen, Hybrids, Jalfs tend to have unusual abilities, Legends, Lore - Freeform, Morality, Platonic Relationships, Predators/dangerous animals are Kodiac, Rewrite, all characters are wild dog or cats, also known as brown bears, anthropomorphic animals, but it’s fun :p, fine look, finished work, injuries, non-modern era, or hyrbids, questions about morality, romantic relationships, this was originally written 2015-2016, two parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 40,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24368008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subtle_Shenanigans/pseuds/Subtle_Shenanigans
Summary: It’s argued, when there are so many tales to be told, which can truly be calledTheTale Of Dark Forest?But, for the most recent times in their history, this is most definitely one of them.——————Long ago, perhaps two generations back, Darkness came in blood and anger. Whispers that he was not flesh and blood, that he was a monster, a creature unfathomable following like death in his wake. The Tyrant took over the small Kingdom of Dark Forest, and day upon his bloody throne, killing who he pleased, and forcing others into his service.This is the world Sirrius and her friends grow up in. This is the world they will change.
Relationships: Morgan Blueshaft/Ravaark, Sirrius & Daniel & Morgan, Sirrius The Moonblade/Daniel Sunshard
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So! Finally putting this up.
> 
> I wrote this book back in 2016, so it is fully finished. But I also wrote it in six months (for my final project in high school), and as I’ve been working on the sequel, I’m kinda displeased with it.
> 
> I’m gonna edit and change things as I go - I’ve taken it off Amazon (I’ve been having problems with the ever since it’s been up), and I own the rights anyways. So I say free book for everyone to read!
> 
> These characters are very dear to my heart, and I hope everyone enjoys. If there’s any question on lore or anything else let me know!
> 
> (This Prologue was not edited much.)

Dust motes floated visibly in the shafts of sunlight slanting through half-closed blinds. The room was lit in dim gold from the rays, softly framed with shadows. The atmosphere was cozy, if not cheerful. It was perfect for storytelling.

An older she-creature sat on a stuffed chair, shadowed in various tones of gold and brown. She regarded the three young ones before her. They were an interesting bunch, and the children of her only son.

Two of them gazed at her with wide, amber eyes full of eager excitement. They were alike in every aspect – being twins – the only difference being that one was male and one female. Their fur was a golden yellow color, their build that of a lion. The male had thick neck fur that would probably never grow into a full mane. They were heavy-set creatures, and most would assume that their parents were a pair of lions. But,of course, she knew otherwise. Despite knowing what sort of creatures that they had been born from, she could denote the certain aspects that came from their heritage by their physical appearance alone. They were both a decade old.

The third was also a male, two years older than his siblings, but no more mature, and much stranger in appearance. He contrasted darkly against their sunny pelts, with his rich, dark brown fur scattered with spots. From neck, flowing down his chest, and even his stomach was rich, creamy fur. His muzzle (which scowled, white fangs gleaming), his paws (tucked under his crossed arms), and his ears (flattened in annoyance) were all a rich, dark black. Even his eyes were strange. They were oddly colored and lined with black, the left a deep blue and the right an earthy brown. To top off his strangeness, he had dark rosettes blotching along his spine in a sort-of stripe, down to his tail, a long, bushy broom of brown with three black rings and a black tip. He was an odd creature, but so much like herself, the older creature thought.

The little she-lion interrupted her thoughts with an inquiry of, “What story are you gonna tell, Gran’ma?” 

The older male hybrid muttered something along the lines of ‘nothin’ good’.

His younger brother responded by sticking his tongue out at him, and his twin sister joined in. A growl rumbled out of the hybrid’s throat, but their grandmother stopped their spat by scolding them for their behavior. Then she scolded him, saying he could voice his opinion, but not to be rude about it.

Once they had settled, she released a tired sigh. She had chosen a tale, but she still wasn’t sure if they were ready to hear it (if she was ready to tell it.) She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze directed at something hanging on the wall. The twins saw it and giggled excitedly, even the strange male pricked his ears in interest. They’d never been told this story, but they’d always wondered, ever since they’d been coming to their grandmother’s home.

When next she spoke, it was in a clear, strong voice that denied age, and it caught the attention of all three of her grandchildren.

“Near the end of summer, the month after the solstice, and years after the tyrant grabbed hold of our land in claws of iron he became restless with his rule. This is where we shall begin our story. 

Image the land, its dark swath of green, as the red-tailed Hawk does from his land of blue. This is our home and these are the things that happened here, before even your father was born. This, my dear grandchildren, is the story of Sirrius The Moonblade, and the events that led her to her battle against Darkness. This, and only this, is the Tale Of Dark Forest…”


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Book 1 - The Hidden Light**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is mostly heavy introduction stuff I'm gonna tweak. It's . . . very heavy handed. Yikes.
> 
> Also, presence of the antagonist's armywill be more prominent than original draft, and somethings about Darkness will change as well.
> 
> They are technically not speaking English! So some spelling in names is odd. I'll attach a grammar/their language document later.
> 
> Sirrius' pelt design here! I'll be drawing the other protags soon: https://www.instagram.com/p/CAEesZkFEow/?igshid=1d9iu7y1rb4ct 
> 
> Weapon/outfit:  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CBMbf5SFzt1/?igshid=gv3tz1rp5nfq
> 
> EDIT: Daniel as well since I got him done https://www.instagram.com/p/CBSOO2vFvma/?igshid=1kvn6o8k3qogz
> 
> And Morgan https://www.instagram.com/p/CBU4km9l8DY/?igshid=1gy3qgmq847mv

He wove in and out among the pines, ears pricked and eyes darting, alert for the slightest sound or movement. He leaned against a tree, slouching a little to make himself smaller. It didn’t do much difference, tall and gangly as he was.

He was golden-brown, scattered with spots; His chest was a pale sandy-white color, untouched by spots. His muzzle was smaller and cat-like, the nose bridge and side of the muzzle accented a darker brown. His eyes were a warm, dark color like wet soil. Rounded ears sprouted from his skull, the tips as black as the rings on his long, thin tail, which peeked out from under his cloak. It was a sleeveless thing of faded brown, the hood hanging on the back; simple colored clothing on underneath. He was known as a _Cyeetah,_ the slang term for a hybrid all or mostly Coyote and Cheetah. He was fairly large for his species.

For the moment, the Cyeetah was glancing around nervously, wary of something or someone. It was more evident when he began to duck under branches and shift between trees, always watching for something. He looked everywhere except for one place, and that would be his undoing; he never looked up.

His ears twitched suddenly at the sound of cracking branches, foreboding crawling down his spine. He didn’t think to look up until a feminine yelp sounded above him, and still all he saw was fabric of a rich purple color, like blackberries, before he was slammed onto the ground.

He growled at the she-creature in annoyance from where he was for her to _geddup off me!_ and she shouted back at him, from where she laid sprawled across his back, _ye’re fine, gimme a minute!_ This went back and forth for an eternity of seconds before she relented. Huffing, she rolled her eyes and got up, allowing him to roll over easily. She held out a paw for him, which he grabbed, and hauled him up. As he stood, he took in her appearance for what felt like the thousandth time.

She was easily an inch or two shorter than him, but also had a stockier build common for her species. She had cream-white chest fur and underbelly, the rest of her pelt a dusty-dark brown color, spattered with spots and rosettes. If one could see under her rich purple cloak and plain clothing, they would see rosettes clumping together along her spine in an oddly shaped stripe, down to her tail. It (her tail) was a long, bushy thing with two thick, black bands and a large, black tip.

Her muzzle was broader and a little longer than her friend’s, a dark, dusty gray color. Above were her eyes, a grey-blue color. On her head rested a set of ears, longer than her friend’s, a strange notch or dip on the outer ends, just before the softly pointed tip. They were black, each with a white spot on the back. Her fur was longer and raggedier than the Cyeetah’s, but would be considered medium in length. She was a _Jalf;_ that is, a Jaguar-Wolf hybrid.

The Cyeetah shook his head, dizzy from the collision. His Jalf friend laughed. “ _B_ _y the Suns of Arath,_ Daniel! Ye’d think someone like you had been rolled down a mountain wit’ a face like that!”

Daniel scowled at her. “ _Sor-ry_ almost dyin’ doesn’t faze ya, Sirrius*. I think my life flashed afore my eyes. I swear I saw my first snow.”

Sirrius narrowed her eyes skeptically at him. “ _Ha-Ha,_ very funny. _You_ were born in _Winter_ , Daniel, so you couldn’t ‘ave remembered yer _first_ snow. An’ I don’t weigh _that_ much.”

He grinned cheekily at her. “I beg to differ; ye’re denser than iron in gold.”

She growled at him, and held a paw up threateningly. A rushing sound, like metal, was barely audible as dark, gray claws shot out. Daniel flattened his ears and pointed accusingly at her. “Not fair! I don’t ‘ave “Iron claws” – only you do. ‘Twould be an uneven match.”

Sirrius turned, sweeping up her cloak abruptly, and spoke over her shoulder. “Then don’t talk ‘bout how heavy I am. Any other female’d slay ye on the spot.” She looked the other way, scanning the dark swath of pines. Cupping her paws around her muzzle, she shouted, “Morgan! C’mon out! ‘Tis over! We need ta set up camp before night sets!”

Sirrius crossed her arms, waiting. Daniel walked over and stopped beside her, ears pricked. They waited in silence for a solid five minutes, when they began to hear some creature hurrying towards them, foregoing any thoughts of silence. Eventually a figure materialized from the trees, breathing heavily.

Morgan was simpler than her two companions, a hybrid also, but much less elaborate. She obviously had fox in her blood, with her black, bushy fur longer than Daniel’s, and more canid than Sirrius’. She had a bushy tail that streamed behind her, but much shorter than her friends, seeing as it stopped a few good inches away from the ground. Her muzzle was shorter and rounder than a full-blooded fox’s. Her eyes were cerulean. Her lanky build was shrouded in a cloak like her companions’, the same shade as her eyes. From her shoulder hung a quiver devoid of arrows, and a bow of dark wood.

“Sorry,” she panted. “I was up a tree. Took some time to get down.”

Sirrius and Daniel shared a look. Of _course_ she’d been up a tree. They were surprised it hadn’t taken longer; despite being an archer, she was horrible when it came to trees. Daniel muttered something under his breath about ‘crazy she-creatures up trees’, and Sirrius looked up with an exasperated sigh. Morgan shuffled her paws in embarrassment.

Daniel was known for his playful and humorous nature, contrasted to Sirrius’ more serious and protective one, but Morgan was the timid and cautious one of the group. She had no problem doing things she considered ‘dangerous’ (climbing a tree), as long as they went about the situation in the most careful manner possible (climbing down said tree in the agonizingly slowest way possible.) She was the level headed one who looked out for the safety of the group.

Sirrius finally shrugged, stating, “Least you’re here. We need to pick a good sleeping sight, an’ build a fire for dinner. It’s almost set-time.”

Daniel began to leave, speaking over his shoulder, “Well, let’s get goin’ to the hill-spot then! Yore burnin’ what little light we ‘ave left with your talkin’. C’mon!”

Sirrius rolled her eyes and Morgan giggled, both sprinting suddenly to catch up with the Cyeetah. It was an important night after all.

* * *

Dark Forest was named for its shady pines, growing in abundant clumps and forests around the area. The area consisted of a small valley with large, sloping hills (they sometimes called them mountains, but they were hills) covered in the coniferous trees. The actual town of Dark Forest was a patch of land, sparser with trees than the mountains, where the inhabitants lived. The buildings rested on dusty, dirt covered ground, and was the only town for many a-days’ journey. The only other structure was the Ruins, which loomed a distance away.

The territory of Dark Forest actually stretched outward, a few days’ long. Northwards was the border of other towns and kingdoms, and southwards the ocean, which none could claim. Not many lived in the further part of the territory, leaving much, undisturbed space to traverse through.

Dark Forest, was, mainly I disturbed by outsiders, and detected by the current Tyrant.

Currently, on an open patch of dark grass on the slope of large hill, Sirrius and her friends sat near a welcome fire, finishing a bird dinner, and chatting amicably.

Morgan stared into the fire, cerulean eyes awash with thought, and twanging her arrowless bows’ string. After a moment, she spoke. “So it’s tomorrow, huh? It’s almos’ the August season, so it’s been a few days since the day of yore birth, Sirrius.”

The Jalf nodded her head once. “Aye, tomorrow we all qualify. With you born ‘round April, and Daniel ‘round Jan’ry, and me in July, we’re all over the right age. We can carry weapons of choice, like any a year shy of their second decade.”

“An’ we only had ta wait a few months fer you!” Daniel chipped in playfully.

She glared playfully. Growling at him in mock anger, she swore “Soon as my sword’s done, I’m testin’ it on _you.”_

Daniel leaned forward with his paws on his knees, grinning. “Ye’ll have a hard time runnin’ me through – I’ll have my own blade ta block you with.”

Before Sirrius could growl a response, Morgan stated calmly, “I’ll shoot ye _both_ with’n arrow before you could draw steel, to save argument.” She paused a moment, ignoring their annoyed looks, than quickly added, “Not that ye’d kill each other anyways – ye’re far too in love fer that.”

It was well known among the townsfolk that Daniel and Sirrius were quite close. All three had grown as childhood friends, but it was obvious that _their_ closeness was changing into something more romantic. Both became flustered at Morgan’s claim, replying over each other (embarrassed more over being called out than their actual feelings.)

“I don’t feel _anythin’_ for that _idiot...!_ ”

“As if! Who says that I –”

“Maybe as _friends_ …!”

“Only friends!”

“Best friends!”

“Like you are ta us, an’ we are to you!”

“Yeah!”

Morgan put up both paws, trying to calm them. “Okay, Okay! I _get_ it! Sheesh, I was only teasin’. _By the Suns of Arath_ , you two get wound up easy!”

Daniel grimaced sheepishly, and Sirrius scowled. They did love each other, truly. What that would turn into, they didn’t know, but appreciated what they had now. They didn’t appreciate Morgan’s constant teasing over the matter though. So of course she saw that as a reason to mess with them.

“Anywaaaay….” Morgan drawled. “I have the supplies fer my arrows. They’ll end up being good, strong shafts. What ‘bout you two?”

Sirrius’ eyes lit up and Daniel pricked his ears in anticipation. Now _this_ was something to talk about. The former grinned, stating, “Well, I thought we could all go ta Old Masonn’s. I’m sure he’ll let us use his work space. I’ve watched him enough to see how ‘tis done.”

Daniel nodded in agreement. “Aye, I’ll definitely come. We’ve spent many a day at his forge. I’ve been plannin’ my blade fer months. Good thing the Forces haven’t decided to restrict the place. Who knows what they’d do?”

Sirrius’ growled softly, eyes darkening even in the firelight, and Morgan’s face contorted angrily. Darkness’ army – the Forces – were those of age who had been pressed into his service. It seemed as if almost all we’re as dark-hearted as the monster himself. Although it wasn’t illegal to plan or make one’s coming of age weapon, as soon as it was made, you’d be pressed to become a member of the Forces. And if you refused, you’d lose your family, and then your life by hands of the Captain.

Morgan muttered softly, “Maybe they’ll force ye to join ‘em.”

Daniel snorted. “Join ‘em? I’d rather fight my way through ‘em and end up slain.”

Sirrius merely sighed, catching her friends’ attention. She laid down on the grass, paws behind her head, and gazed up at the sky. She watched countless stars flicker and twinkle in the thickening blue swath of sky. After a few moments, she spoke. “I want a weapon to protect my friends an’ family, an’ myself, but I don’t really want ta kill anyone. That’s prob’ly why I hate the forces so much – they’re mostly nothin’ but murderers and torturers. I hope dearly that Darkness will be defeated one day. If he were, the Forces’d disperse, an’ we’d be free from fear. Everyone wouldn’t be afraid to fight them off then, and the Forces would be too scared to stay with that Brute slain. Eventually we’d get peace, and no more innocent would die.”

Morgan stifled a gasp, but Daniel grunted in agreement. Everyone thought it; they’d only be free if Darkness was dead. Sirrius was only the first to say it. The Cyeetah got up and went over to his Jalf friend, settling next to her on the grass. After a moment, he asked her, almost in a whisper, “Then why do you want a weapon if ye don’t ‘ave intention of defeatin’ the bad guy?”

Only the crackling of the fire was heard as she thought his question over. About two minutes passed before she answered.

“Defeatin’ the bad guys doesn’t mean killin’ them Daniel. No weapon is fer murder. Yes, it can kill, _but it doesn’t have to._ I want to _protect_ the people I care about – not kill those I hate.”

“But if it came to it?” Morgan piped up, her voice quavering a bit.

Sirrius took a moment to think again, whiskers twitching, and tail flicking ever so slightly. After another small eternity, she spoke again, shrugging. “Dunno. We’ll have ta see when the time comes. You can never know what’ll happen in the future. You can only hope ye’re strong enough to do the right thing.”

No one spoke after that, silently gazing at the stars and musing in their own minds the discussion. Smoke hazily drifted to the shatter-strewn stars, the fire dwindling as their friends fell ever deeper into sleep. They became draped in shadow, the only light being the myriads of cold stars submerged in a deep, blue sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha this writing is all over the place and will need major changes.
> 
> So, those forced into the Forces aren’t all evil, but most at the vanguard tend to become fond of power and bullying others. We _will_ meet good dudes in that army.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So one of the major changes is, Sirrius had a brother who I am removing, and I’m changing details about her mother and grandmother. In the original I didn’t delve much in later chapters, and there’s an obvious disconnect (probly due to my own personal disconnect with parental figures), and I’ll be giving more of a reason to that. Or try to, anyways.
> 
> My writing is all over the place and that is okay.

The next day, Sirrius snuck into the house, far earlier in the morning than she usually would. Her mother, Breeze, slept on in her own bedroom - she didn’t bother with a goodbye. She loved her mother, she really did, but she wouldn’t say they were close. Not in the way most parents and children were. Her grandmother, Ann, was in the main room. She was the one who had mostly reared Sirrius from cubhood. As such, she gave a sleepy wink as Sirrius crawled back out through the window.

She secured the knapsack on her back, heavy with assorted metals. It was mostly _that one_ metal weighing it down, but - she just knew it would make a good sword. A sword that hadn’t been made before, and if it had, not for a long time. She shifted it again, unconsciously gripping it with her metal claws. Luckily, the strap didn’t rip.

As her house faded out of view behind her (personal homes were sparsely distributed about the valley; Establishments in the Town and The Ruins being the exception) Sirrius’ thoughts turned to her father.

She didn’t think of him often – he having been dead since she’d been born – but she found her mind straying to him. She knew that he’d been a Jalf, like her, but more hybridized (Though not as much as her grandmother). He had been large, her mother said, even for his species, with pale, indigo eyes and his pelt a soft, tawny-tan color. It was hard to imagine her oddly slim mother (who was a Jaguar) next to such a giant. _Araknar_ had been his name. A gentle giant, if any, who’d only gone to gather periwinkles and alyssum for his Wife’s garden. They say he fell – though from fright or incident, who knew – hitting his head hard enough to kill him. At least that’s what they could gather from where his body lay, dead among the flowers, and a boulder painted with his blood.  
  
Her mother hadn’t been the same since, so her grandmother (who’s real name was Suzanne), took the time to raise her until her own health fell. Mostly, it was Sirrius on her own these days, gathering and trading or hanging out with her friends, all the while avoiding the Forces.

Until she caught the gleam of a sword, one afternoon, when she was half a decade from her second decade of life; then she decided she would become a swordsbeast and never become one of Darkness’ army.

Old Masonn – the town blacksmith – had taught her and Daniel. Both became quite skilled, to the best of their strength. Sirrius would never notice enough to articulate it, but Old Masonn was the closest thing she had to a father.

She was startled out of her musings by an over gleeful voice calling her name. She cringed, expecting some prank or unseen move to knock her down, when two sets of paws wrapped around her shoulders. Daniel and Morgan where the culprits, on either side, and grinning like crows at a carcass.

Daniel smiled even broader, brown eyes twinkling warmly. “So, you ready?”

Sirrius smiled back, just as widely. “Aye.” She hefted her bag as emphasis. Turning to the fox hybrid, she said, “You?”

Morgan nodded eagerly, passing the Jalf an arrow. “Finished last night,” she said, as Sirrius inspected the shaft. Ashy colored wood, straighter than sunrays, was tipped on one end with a blue granite-looking arrowhead and tufted at the other with vivid blue feathers - if they were dyed she couldn’t tell. It was well made, the care evident in the work.

Sirrius turned it this way and that, then returned it, commenting, “Very nice. Bet ye can shoot it faster than Daniel can eat.” She ignored an indignant “Hey!” and noting the position of the sun, hurried them, saying, “We’d better move fast. Sol and Sterr aren’t our timekeeper’s; the Sun is sayin’ we’d better get there afore Old Masonn closes for his noontide nap.”

“An’ then we won’t get done till the third hour,” Daniel muttered.

Ignoring the remark (although she agreed with it), she turned the conversation over to their soon to be made swords. Since Old Masonn was the town’s blacksmith, and well known, he’d offered to teach them in the ways of the sword (both the wielding and the making), which they had accepted. But that was many years ago, and now they were nearly as skilled as he was. Old Masonn had taught them well.

Not much was known about Old Masonn. He had lived in Dark forest since before the days of Darkness’ arrival. He was by far one of the oldest creatures in Dark Forest (though Mrs. Finsche wasn’t far behind); only the gray in his fur and failing eyesight betrayed his age.

He was fairly tall – almost seven feet – and had a powerful build. He had hefty, with big paws, and his fur was the tawny color of lions. The only difference was that he had no mane, just thick neck fur, and fangs almost to the length of his bottom jaw. It was rumored that he had the blood of an ancient creature in him – perhaps Sabertooth or Atrox. Kind amber eyes peered from behind round eyeglasses he always wore.

Neither Sirrius, Daniel, nor Morgan could remember when they actually started spending time with the blacksmith, but they could all agree that they looked forward to each visit. They all held memories of trudging through autumn leaves, training in snow, fighting against spring rains, and wishing for fall’s winds when summer was too hot as they made their way to Old Masonn’s, day and day again - even before they begged him to teach them in weapon smith and skill. It was a fond time they spent with him, and none would ever change it.

It took them a good half hour to reach the shop (they all lived a fair distance from it) and they all stopped short at the sight they were confronted with. It wasn’t Old Masonn, standing proud and orange-gold in the sunlight, that shocked them. Rather, it was _who_ he was speaking to that made them stop suddenly.

There, with four other guards flanking him, stood the commander of Darkness’ Forces.

The silver fox, Captain Aradacraz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Sol and Sterr” refers to an old legend, that the world (Arath) once had two suns called Sol and Sterr who were sibling stars. The legend isn’t easily translatable, so it’s unknown if one ‘swallowed’ the other, or they ‘chose to become one’ - either way, they have one sun which is named Solsterr.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOf, some major editing will go into this one.
> 
> Aradacraz' character most certainly has elements of a villain/antagonist like those in the _Redwall series_ by Brian Jacques.
> 
> One of my few characters I absolutely hate because he is such a piece of excrement.

If there was any creature to certainly have blood on their paws, it was Aradacraz the fox.

It wasn’t a matter if the stories were exaggerated or rumors – they always had some ring of truth. Aradacraz wasn’t a Captain of the Forces for nothing, and he most certainly wasn’t a good creature. The only being in all of Dark Forest who could possibly be worse (and is), was the evil tyrant – Darkness himself.

He stood there, a malicious smirk adorning his muzzle. It was the look a predator gave its prey when closing in, accentuated by slanted yellow eyes. They could hear him chuckling dryly as they drew near.

“ _Ha!_... If ye say so, ye walkin’ carcass! Too bad ye’re th’ only smith fer miles.” He snarled, reaching tip-pawed to spit in his face. “Better have me a sword ready by tomorrow, or you _will_ become a rottin’ carcass.”

Old Masonn’s broad paws clenched tightly around the tools he held, as he answered in a barely suppressed amount of fury. “I already told you, _Captain_ , I’m retired. I only let others come an’ make their own weapons. An’ I’m not lettin’ the likes of _you_ in my shop.”

“Then what’re those, if your not smith in’?” He asked accusingly, pointing to the poor tools being crushed in the giant’s paws.

“Tools that I’m _cleanin’_.”

Aradacraz opened his mouth – ready to respond with some gruesome retort, no doubt – when he snapped it shut in surprise.

Sirrius strode forward, shoulders hunched, and head low like her wolfish counterpart when hunting, a growl resonating deep in her throat. Her eyes shone angrily, cold and more gray than blue. Her friends followed behind her, the hybrid standing stall and the black fox seeming the most unsure, slinking, but determined all the same. All held a fierceness in their eyes, protective of the old blacksmith.

Without thinking, Aradacraz took a step back. He had never seen a Jalf, but the shape was hauntingly familiar. Remembering his place, the Captain met her face to face, growling out threateningly, “What d’ye want, cub?”

Turning away from the fox in anger, she faced Old Masonn instead.“Is he bothering you, Ancient one?”

He kept a neutral gaze, replying, “Nothing for you to worry about, young’uns. _Merra Solsterr_ ,” he added to Morgan and Daniel.

“. . .?” Aradacraz’s eyes flashed curiously.

Masonn stepped in front of Sirrius, sending her a warning glance. She held back a growl, flexing her metallic gray claws in irritation.

“These young’uns are under _my_ protection,” his voice was dangerously calm, and he took a step closer to the fox, “now _away with you_.”

Aradacraz huffed, feigning his fearful step back as calculated retreat. “Don’t think this will be fergotten, carcass. As fer you,” he pointed at the three friends. “I hope you an’ yore friends plan ta use yer weapons in the service of yer Lord Darkness.”

Aradacraz cackled as he left, his few soldiers following them.

* * * * 

Old Masonn’s shop was surprisingly cool, the stone walls resistant to the fire from his forges. The main room was large, with five workspaces, each with their own forge. A storage room was at the back, and anyone who chose to walk through its doorway was greeted with various types of wood, metal, cloth, and anything else deemed necessary for blacksmithing.

When they entered, Masonn veered to the right with his young friends following closely. Another room stood awkwardly to the side of the smithery. A fireplace – devoid of fire – and an armchair greeted them inside. It was Old Masonn’s personal chamber, where he rested at night (and noon), greeting those who came seeking his shop. He plopped down onto his cozy chair with a tired sigh, motioning with his paw to a rug sprawled across the hard-packed dirt that was the floor.

The three of them promptly sat in front of the ancient lion hybrid: Morgan nervously picking at her cloak; Sirrius with her arms crossed, eyes still glittering angrily; and Daniel, with an expression between annoyed and worried. Old Masonn removed his glasses and rubbed his forehead, sighing in irritation. He understood their frustration, he really did, but they had to be careful. Aradacraz wasn’t a beast to mess with. He was a fox of all shades of cunning.

“In these times we have to be careful,” he began. Seeing that he had their attention, he continued. “Aradacraz holds tremendous power as Darkness’ captain – who knows what he’d do if he felt truly insulted? Thank the Summer sky he was in a good mood today!”

He turned his amber eyes on them, scanning their faces in turn. Morgan nodded gloomily, Sirrius muttered a “Sorry”, but wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Daniel looked … thoughtful.

“ ‘e must have known we were almost of age, which I suppose ain’t all that odd, what with us carryin’ empty scabbards.” His expression soured, as he snorted, “not that I’ll be pledgin’ ta some tyrant.”

“Nor I!” Sirrius threw back her head and yowled.

“Nor I!” Morgan clenched a paw, raising it into a fist. 

Old Masonn glanced at each of their faces, noting the resolve there. A smile climbed across his features. “Well,” he said. “That’s all fine an’ true. But ye can’t go fightin’ tyrant just like that. First,” He pointed a hefty paw at Daniel and Sirrius. “Ye need to make yore blades.”

They nodded, knowing another lesson of some sort was coming.

“Now, little warriors,” Masonn hefted himself out of his seat, going over to the wall where a great double-headed battle axe lay, “what is one very important matter when making yer weapon?”

Daniel raised a paw. “Materials?”

Masonn nodded, clicking his claws on the axehead as he brings it down. “Good. What else?”

“You want to put yer heart in it,” Sirrius supplies, barely lifting her own paw.

“An utmost truth. Morgan?”

The black fox had kept her own paw steady, lowering it as she answers. “A name.”

Masonn chuckles. “Very good! We’ve discussed materials, and smithing with yore heart at length afore. Now, can ye tell me why a name is important?” He taps the handle of the battleaxe on his paw, as though it were a stick.

“Because. . .it tells others who you are?”

“Hmm, that’s some of it Sirrius.”

“It, uh, describes your weapon?”

“Not bad, Daniel.”

“Because it bounds you to your weapon; together, in title, you are one. It precedes your reputation, travels on, and cements your identity.”   
  
“Very good, Morgan!” Old Masonn nodded.  
  
She preened under the praise, Daniel and Sirrius huffing.

“That’s ‘cos ye’re learnin’ Ancient Scaiscript, ain’t it?”

“Text-breath.”

Morgan blew a raspberry at them, Old Masonn rolling his eyes.

“Being learned is a good thing, you two. But we all have our skills. Sirrius, you like strategy; Daniel, you favour knowledge of nature; and Morgan likes our history and language.”

“Now,” he hedged up his axe. “Ye know me as Old Masonn, because of my age and knowledge. In days afore, I was Masonn Swiftsound; I was fast wit’ this axe, faster than most.”

He suddenly swung, and though he didn’t have the same vigor of his youth, his strength was impressive. The air sang around the old blades.

“Think on your names, as you put your heart into your weapons, with the materials you have gathered,” he gently put the axe back, “for today, they change.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a whole part I took out where Masonn calls them by their A.scaiscript names instead of their Skaie (modern form) names, and Aradacraz recognizes them and - it was a whole mess. So that got erased and I may use it elsewhere. For now:
> 
> Sirrius comes from Surren (“comes a great darkness/light amongst shadows”)
> 
> Daniel comes from Dannel (“firm, solid earth”)
> 
> Morgan comes from Morgaine (“tall ruler of vast domain”)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. . .did actual research for this chapter back when I wrote it. But keep in mind this story was written four years ago so there’s gonna be inaccuracies.
> 
> (Also, Arath, the world they live in, while very earth-like isn’t earth. So they have some different metals and such. It’s fantasy, roll with it XD.)
> 
> Also I absolutely skimped on Morgan’s bit - I feel bad but I’m too lazy.
> 
> (Pigeon’s blood is a nickname for ruby.)

The process of sword making is a long and tedious one, taking a great many hours of the day, if done properly.

But to put it simply, it goes something like this:

When the forge fire flared fiercely (If you were using a hard-to-melt metal, the temperature would be tremendously high) enough so that your whiskers felt singed when you leaned in a little too close, then you were ready to begin.

The lump (or bar, or chunk) of metal was then placed into the flames, until it began to soften ( _not_ melt), glowing like a fallen star. The metal could then be worked with.

The metal (in your tongs) was then placed on an anvil, pounded and folded and pressed periodically to make it take the shape you wished. When the metal lost its heat, it was thrust back into the fire, hungry flames dancing around it; when it grew too hot, it was thrust into a trowel of water, hissing and steaming like an exhaling dragon of old.

When the sword was shaped to your (the smith’s) liking, it was cooled fully one last time. It was then pulled out – unfinished edges gleaming as the water slid off it – to some grinding stones, endlessly turning and tumbling grain to flour (though the grain was removed at this point so that none would receive metal in their flour). Taking the blade, it was then pushed against the still-moving stones, honing it to its final form.

When a beast felt that they were fully done, they cast one last critical eye over their work to see if any necessary adjustments were to be made.

* * * * 

And as she inspected hers, Sirrius couldn’t see any major faults (for every blade would have some fault) that needed major correction. The blade was true; made for (and by) her own paws. The weight was a little more than she was expecting, but she could work with that. She was nervous and excited all in one to show off her smith-work. She sheathed the sword as she heard her name. “Coming!” she responded.

They all gathered together in Old Masonn’s personal room, where a fire was stoked and blazing cheerily. They room was awash in orange and shadow, filling the atmosphere with a sense of importance. They all stood, Sirrius and Daniel with mysterious swords sheathed, deciding who would go first. It was finally decided that Daniel would. Outside it was evening.

He drew forth his blade, which reflected the firelight on its soft yellow-toned surface. The metal was lighter than steel in color, slightly longer and not as wide as a normal blade. The hilt was made of brown fabric like leather, and the pommel was a yellow crystal-like stone. Sunshard.

“I named it _Sunshard_ fer obvious reasons,” he smiled wryly. Then proudly added, “Now I’m a proper swordsbeast.”

“So ye’re _Daniel Sunshard_ now?” Old Masonn inquired. Daniel nodded firmly, missing Sirrius’ softly muttered, “ _Copycat_ _._ ”

But Old Masonn didn’t miss it. Turning his sharp eyes to the Jalf, he asked, “And you, young Sirrius?”

She grinned sheepishly at his observance, then composed herself just as quick. She pulled her sword out of its sheath, and brought it forth to the light.

The sword shone dark as danger as she flicked it in the light, its blade the color of wet ash as she turned it. It was an inch or two longer than most blades, but the width was the same. Her paw gripped the hilt, black leather, with a pommel stone made of Pidgeon’s blood. The point where hilt and blade met there was a white-gray crystal, one on each side that gave the appearance of connecting at one stone. It didn’t look very heavy, but any who lifted it would be surprised at its weight. It fit the Jalf well; dense, but just as strong and dangerous. It was a hybrid as unique as its master and maker.

She tapped the ashen blade with a metal claw, the _clink_ of metal on metal sounding. Old Masonn tipped his head. It was a peculiar ring, and the only metal that he could think of that was as dense and strong as that was Moonstone. A rare find as any, especially in these lands.

“This,” she tapped it again as emphasis, “is my _Moonblade._ But my warrior title I chose, is _Sirrius The Moonblade._ ”

“And you lot mocked my name,” Daniel murmered, causing Morgan to giggle.

Sirrius pointed the sword at him, growling playfully. “Then we’ll go a round tomorrow, _If_ that’s what ye’re askin’ for.”

Before Daniel could banter back, Old Masonn intervened. “But fer tonight, ye’ll _sleep_.”

“Aye,” Morgan agreed hastily. Then added a little clumsily, “Though, since none of ye asked, I’m _Morgan Blueshaft_ now.”

Masonn gave her a hefty pat on the shoulder, ignoring her attempts to keep her balance. “And they’re all fine names. Now, we’ll all _go to sleep._ Agreed?”

They all dropped to the floor, curling up on the rug, and responding with a, “Right away!” “Yessir” and “As ye say!”

Old Masonn held back chuckles as her watched them try to follow his orders with mock seriousness. His young friends could be quite a card at times.

* * * * 

Aradacraz entered the dimly lit throne room, dismissing his soldiers. His report was for Darkness’ ears only.

His master sat on the time-worn throne, melting into the surrounding shadows that made up the walls. In this room the only features visible on the black-furred creature were his deep – but almost unnaturally neon – purple eyes. The room was cloaked in silence and the flickering of small candles.

Eventually Darkness spoke, fangs gleaming dangerously in the scant candlelight.

“If ye have somethin’ important to report, then spit it out.”

The silver fox shuffled nervously. At first he thought what he’d discovered would be of interest, but now…he wasn’t so sure.

“M-my Lord Darkness …” he began nervously. “Sire, I have encountered some…strange events today.”

Darkness merely blinked, waiting for his officer to continue.

“I went out to the Smith – the rot-pelt was especially argumentative today – when three young creatures came along. It was two females and a male. One of the females was particularly defiant – carrying not fer my rank nor my service under ye, Sire.”

He paused, leaving room for Darkness to ask, “What manner of creature were they?”

Aradacraz smiled slightly. “I’m glad ye asked, sire. The male was a Cyeetah, one of the females was a black-furred fox-hybrid, and the argumentative one was a Jalf.”

Curiosity sparked in Darkness’ unnatural eyes. And something else.

“Well well, been awhile since I’ve met another jalf,” he mused. 

He seemed to be caught in his own thoughts, gazing into the distance.

“If by time they carry their blades, and have not been sworn into service to me, then detain them,” he said at last.

Aradacraz bowed low, then left him with a sweep of his silver tail; the echoing rumble of the dark beasts’ laughter filling the halls behind him. Although his master acted as though the matter humored him greatly, Aradacraz knew what he saw.

There had been shock dancing in Darkness’ eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is ABSOLUTELY cheesy and that’s okay.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot of off-hand references to a character named Anastashia The Great and her companion Nu’ah (they’ll be mentioned later). So “her snowy pelt” and such things are in reference to that.
> 
> I dunno if I mentioned it already but “Suns of Arath” has to do with old legends that Solsterr (their Sun) was once two stars called Sol and Sterr that merged into one another.
> 
> It’s not odd for creatures familiar with one another to call each by name in the ancient form of Scaiscript. Surren is Sirrius and Dannel is Daniel obviously.

“By her snowy pelt, _Why_ are we up this _early?_ ”

“Because, young one, a warrior should be ready to battle at any hour.”

“It should be consider’d cruel an’ unusual punishment to be up afore the Sun. It’s not like we have the adrenalin runnin’ through us like if the enemy were ‘pon us.”

“True; but I think ‘tis still a good hour as any.”

“Shaddup, Morgan. Ye’re nocturnal; Daniel’s diurnal an’ I’m more of a day than night sort of creature.”

“Aren’t you _crepuscular_ , or some other funny dawn-an’-dusk word?”

“An’ I thought you were on _my_ side, ye stripe tailed traitor.”

“I’m jus’ sayin’...”

The four creatures chattered among themselves, their voices hushed but still filling the pre-dawn air. Old Masonn - who’d never had good sleeping hours to begin with - had no qualms about waking up his three young friends for the promised sparring session. Morgan, with her nightly fox nature, had no problems getting up at the fifth hour and travelling to the old training site - a secluded area in the town’s dark forests.

But that didn’t go down as well with the two hybrids.

Eventually they reached a small clearing in the pines where a sandy floor was cleared like a battle ring, the marks in the sand showing that it had been swept free of pine needles not long ago. The three young creatures knew the area quite well, having sparred there often. They had used wooden weapons growing up, as they trained to use a real blade. Old Masonn mostly pitted the Jalf and Cyeetah against one another, but he had taught Morgan how to use a dagger in close combat. Each had their own memories here, bordered with the echoes of cloaks _swishing_ over the dirt, the hollow _clunk_ as carved branches met for the thousandth time, ragged breathing apparent as the mock-battle was fought…

They each went about their way with ease: Sirrius and Daniel looked to their swords, both choosing to wear them on their hips (the latter striking a dashing pose and Sirrius trying to muffle her laughter); Old Masonn swept away a few stray pine needles; and Morgan slumped down on _the log_ , chin-in-paw indicating she had seen such duels a thousand and two times and wasn’t overly excited to see another. But in reality, she was pretty excited to see it with actual _swords_ ; not that she would tell them that.

Old Masonn gave the two hybrids a sharp nod of approval, then went over to where Morgan was. Rather than sit, he stepped with one footpaw on the log and leaning on the same knee. They watched as the two combatants stride to opposite sides of the ring, then faced each other with their paws on their hilts in anticipation. Keeping his face neutral, the hybrids’ instructor of old called out in an authoritative voice:

“Surren the Jalf and Dannel the Cyeetah; do ye wish ta draw blade ‘gainst th’other?”

Their voices rang out loud and clear. “ _Aye_!”

“An’, as in regulation with with a battle fer the purpose of trainin’, promise to withstain from purpos’ly tryin’ to injure the other, whether minimally or severely?”

“ _Aye!_ ”

“Then _Terameth!_ ” _Begin!_

The _schick!_ of their metal blades sliding out of their respective sheaths resounded, as both began circling one another and searching for an opening. From experience, he knew it wouldn’t work as long as _he_ fought _her_ , and vise versa. Daniel drew back his blade and slashed first, which Sirrius saw and neatly blocked.

Then their swords met.

The harsh ring of metal replaced the hollow _thwock_ of wood in their memories that they had grown up with, and lingered in the air as their blades retreated from one another. Daniel quickly swung for her left side, the muscle in his arm tightened in case he needed to stop mid-swing. It would be a dangerous wound if she didn’t block fast enough.

The jarring sensation of the Moonblade halting the journey of his sword brought a quick grin to his face. It left as fast as it had arrived. He had to tighten his grip on Sunshard ‘lest it go flying from his paws. Her sword was heavier than his, and she tended to put more power behind her blows as a result.

He quickly dodged a slash from her, giving back a rapid one of his own that she had to block. They both were grinning.

He suddenly gave quick swings of the blade which she had to dodge, taking up her concentration. This went on for some time.

Sirrius unsuccessfully held back a growl; she had forgotten how _fast_ Daniel was. Her paws were already tiring, the weight of the blade setting in as her muscles had begun to burn. Vaguely, she thought to herself that she’d have to get used to the weight of the metal as opposed to the (not-really-that) light wood she had trained with. Especially if she was wanting to take the lead in this song of clashing blades.

The lion blacksmith watched his students, his ears pricked in interest. Daniel _was_ a good deal faster than Sirrius, overall. It was most likely due to his slimmer build, compared to Sirrius, who was stockier because of her species - even though she was female _and_ a tad smaller than him. But Sirrius had more power behind her strikes, being a powerful creature; a Jalf. (Daniel, could possibly overpower her, if he didn’t rely so much on his speed.)

Sirrius was still stuck dodging and blocking the gilded blade, knowing she’d be beaten if she didn’t find a way to match his speed. Perhaps, distributing her weight…?

Her gray-blue eyes widened in delight. That’s it! She remembered something Old Masonn had once said.

_“...it helps if’n ye can find a way to distribute yer weight. Many beasts are weighed down by their tails; whether heavy, long tails, sometimes bushy or long-furred ones. Now, I’ve heard of some creatures who wrap them ‘round a leg, or an ankle. Some ‘round their midsection. There’s the risk of becoming un-balanced, if ye’re unaccustomed to it. Now it doesn’t guarantee…”_

_“Heeheehee...Bushytail.”_

_“Shaddup or I’ll kill ye Daniel! At leas’ my tail’s not a mile long!”_

_“Aren’t our tails the same length...?”_

She twirled her tail around the lower portion of her left leg, ducking low just as Daniel’s sword swung over her head. Quick as a flash she thrust forward with her blade, forcing him back. The ring of their blades changed song, the pitch varying slightly as Sirrius’ Moonblade struck first. The dull gray blade had begun to take the lead.

As they traded further blows, accidentally trimming fur and clipping cloak edges, Sirrius could feel that she was faster than before. Not much, and defiantely not as fast as Daniel, for she was still a hefty creature, but fast enough to get some offensive strikes in.

She was thankful for those days were Old Masonn made them practice balance without their tails.

They both swung their blades, colliding to produce a similarly discordant note, when a voice roared out “ _Stop! Halt yer blades!”_

Both hybrids sheathed their blades tiredly, breathing heavily as they finally stopped their ‘battle’. They shook one another's’ paws heartily, mirroring the same gleeful expression. Old Masonn strode forward and clapped them heartily on the shoulder (the two exhausted beasts nearly fell over) and laughed heartily.

“Well fought you two! There’s always room for improvement, but fer now I would say you two were spectacular. Very well fought indeed!”

Both muttered sheepishly at the praise, Daniel purring slightly. Suddenly there was a rushing sound, like soft hissing, followed by a dull _shthunk!_ The moment ruined, all three beasts looked down quizzically, to see an arrow between Sirrius’ foot-paws. It was already beginning to lose its shudder.

They glanced over to the log, where the culprit stood tall, her bow held tightly in one paw though her shooting paw was devoid of the arrow. She grinned cheekily at them, ignoring their unamused glares they shot at her. Morgan was quite pleased with herself.

“Got ‘xactly where I was aimin’ for.”

Old Masonn turned a critical eye from her to the arrow and back.

“ ‘Twas a fair shot, I’ll grant ye that,” he said gruffly in response. “But next time would ye mind _announcin’_ that you plan to shoot? I need to be sure of yer form.”

The three friends started laughing, the lion’s serious face on the matter apparently hilarious to them. He tried to keep a straight face, but eventually lost the battle, his fangs gleaming as he laughed long and loud with his young friends.

* * * * 

They practiced hours more and, seeing as noon had come and gone some time ago, decided to have a late lunch. They chose to eat in the training clearing, since a fire there would be less likely to catch onto the forest, and the stream wasn’t too far from there. Sirrius volunteered to catch some fish since she didn’t mind getting soaked (unless it was rain, which she absolutely hated.) The stream wasn’t very deep, and she caught two fish - shiny, silver-gray scaled things - in almost no time. She brought them back to the clearing to be cooked, her claws hooked into them so that they didn’t slip from her grasp.

Morgan built a small fire towards the center of the sand-filled clearing. It took her a moment, and after the _chock! chock!_ sound of her dagger striking stone, some sparks finally caught on the pine branches. She immediately cleaned the fish Sirrius had brought back, gutting them with the same dagger, then spit them over the blaze. They soon finished cooking, and the four beasts split them. They sat on the log to eat, except Daniel, who sat on the ground next to it.

The fish meat was delicate, and delicious when warm. It had a soft flavor like salmon, though its flesh wasn’t pink. Morgan had made sure to cook it just right, so that it wasn’t too dry, nor undercooked. The two hybrids and Old Masonn praised her cooking skill, which she did her utmost to play down. She was a fairly humble creature, after all.

When they were done, Old Masonn took to sparring with Morgan in paw-to-claw combat, which she was to utilise her dagger in. Both creatures had short tails, Sirrius noted, which made it so that tripping and weight distribution weren’t as much of an issue as they were for her. They went through about six rounds, Morgan only being disarmed once. Her opponent clapped her heftily on the shoulder (almost pounding her down into the ground) and congratulated her.

“Not bad, not bad! I would watch your openin’s a little more, but I wouldn’t worry much if I were you. Only if you were to go ‘gainst a highly skilled creature, I suppose. But I must say; you young ones are shapin’ up well. By the Suns of Arath! It ain’t been that long since I started trainin’ ye!”

Morgan let a pleased smile blossom on her face, Daniel puffed out his chest fur, and Sirrius gave a fanged grin that could almost match the ancient lion’s. Old Masonn was a skilled warrior (especially when using a double-headed battle axe), so praise from him was regarded highly.

The old blacksmith chuckled at their expressions. “Let’s get movin’ before daylight drops away, eh?”

* * * * 

Stalking the halls of The Ruins, soldiers of the Forces gave way as Aradacraz passed. Normally he would revel in his ranking, but right now all he could think about was Darkness.

Normally, Darkness didn’t care if some unruly upstarts were slaughtered. In fact, he usually took delight in the executions, handling them himself. So for him to command that the prisoners - for surely the three young hybrids, fiery-spirited as they were, would resist submitting - be kept alive was strange, in the least.

The only thing that made sense was that they were either useful to his master. . .or a threat.

And the Jalf was definitely a threat.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So basically Morgan is really interested in history - but a certain faction, which has to do with memorizing old texts and oral story-telling. Oral story-telling is a big thing in their universe.
> 
> Yes young adults/teens frequent the bar but there’s strict rules on drinking. They’re there more for entertainment/companionship.

The three friends left Old Masonn that evening with the promise of returning in a few days’ time. The ancient lion said he’d hold them to that, and Daniel better bring one of his mother’s homemade pies. The male hybrid had laughed at that and said he’d ask her to bake one. They gave their goodbyes at last and left.

They strolled through the small town, dusky tones shrouding them as small lantern lights began to twinkle like stars coming out at night. They could be seen scattered everywhere, encased in small echoing halos of light.

The three friends were tired physically, but their minds were buzzing with excitement as they processed their day. They were warriors at last! They needed to end this day with something good, something that they would all enjoy, something like…

Daniel elbowed Sirrius, inclining his head to a small building, an awkward two-story, that had warm light pouring out through various cracks and chips. The windows were foggy with age-old dust, distorted shapes of creatures laughing and singing splayed in silhouette against the windows. Sirrius nodded once, then matched the Cyeetah’s smirk with a wild grin of her own.

Morgan had been zoning out deep into her own thoughts, so when she registered that her friends where on either side grabbing an arm each, she was quite surprised. She glanced back and forth between the two, her bewildered expression contrast to their mischievous ones. She didn’t like those faces, not at all.

“What’re yew two up to?” She glared at them.

“Well,” Daniel began, the grin ever present on his features. “Sirrius an’ I realized we all haven’t been ta Lai’s Tavern in awhile.”

“An’ with all that dusty ol’ history Old Masonn teaches you, we thought it’d be best if we went an’ you told a tale,” Sirrius added.

Morgan’s cerulean eyes widened as realization hit her like a boulder. She began struggling against her friends’ grip, yelling, “Put me down! I am _not_ doing this!”

“But they love ye there, Mor! You spin a good yarn!”

“No! Put me down!”

“Actually, Daniel, it’s _history_ she tells, so ‘tis all true. Well, what’s not distorted.”

“Either way, she’s a good storyteller.”

“Aye.”

“Are you even listenin’ to me?! I told yew two, absolutely not! Put.Me.Down!”

Sirrius and Daniel kept chatting back and forth, ignoring the vixen’s protests and struggles. Being the smallest out of all three, she couldn’t put up much of a fight. Soon it was too late, the wooden doors shut behind them, and they were inside the tavern.

A motley of creatures gathered in clusters - singing, laughing, joking. Some (a good portion, surprisingly) had barely drank, but others had obviously had a few. They sat around tables with a mug or tankard of some sort, or in booths along the side walls. The roof went up high, shadowed where the candle and lantern light didn’t reach. At the back was a bar space, the wall behind it obviously a division between the Tavern and the two-story area. It was actually quite roomy; even if it was small for a Tavern.

The Tavernkeeper was drying a glass, leaning on the bar counter casually when he saw them. He gave a welcoming grin, his eyes twinkling in amusement at the sight of Morgan. He was obviously stifling laughter. But how could he not find it funny? After all, this wasn’t the first time this had happened.

He was a _Concolor_ \- a puma - of sorts, his fur a dusty gold-brown with accents of darker gray, almost charcoal black. He had warm, honey colored eyes that were friendly. His outfit consisted of a simple vest-like shirt of tan trimmed a mahogany color. He was three and a half decades old. His name was Laine, but most called him Lai.

When they had made their way over to him, he chuckled and said, “I can’t serve you young ‘uns nothin’. Not until ye’ve carried yer weapons fer at _least_ five years.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “We _know_ that. An’ _you_ know we were never gonna ask.”

Lai kept his eyes focused on the glass he was drying, ignoring Morgan who was mouthing ‘ _help me’_ with eyes wide in mock fright. He was smirking lightly as he asked, “Aye? So why’ve ye come then?”

Daniel gave an exasperated sigh. “We’ve been trainin’ with Old Masonn all day, now that we’re _warriors_. Sirrius and I thought a story sounded good - An’ I _know_ how you all _love_ a good story. So we decided to bring liddle ol’ Morgan to come an’ tell everyone one of her tales.”

Lai nodded in understanding. “Aye, ye all ‘ave kind hearts, you do - especially you, young Morgan. You know how much my son loves yer stories, and I appreciate that.”

His muzzle twitched into a smile as Morgan tried crossing her arms and instead muttered dangerously. There was no way out of it now - and she knew that. She relented. Morgan was perfectly willing to fight her way out of the Tavern tooth and claw, but to disappoint little Nicolai? Never.

When Morgan finally dropped her head in defeat, Sirrius and Daniel released her. Lai put the glass he’d been cleaning away carefully, dropped the rag on the counter, and then walked over to the little door on the wall behind said counter. He opened it and shouted upward over the general noise, “Ni’lai! Come on down! Yer Auntie Mormor is here with a story just’ fer ya!”

Sirrius and Daniel laughed into their paws at Morgan’s nickname, and her glare only made them laugh harder. If they hadn’t been so occupied, they would have noticed the heavy _clump! Clump! Clump!_ s of somebeast hopping down a set of stairs. A set of clawed footpaws clacked loudly on the Tavern floor as Nicolai hurled himself at Morgan. He leapt up into her paws, hugging tightly as she caught him, his exclamation of “Auntie Mormor!” mingling with her “Oomph!” of surprise.

“Ye sure are gettin’ big, Ni’lai.”

He looked up at her and grinned. Two years short of a decade, with an odd green eye (left) and honey colored one (right), Nicolai Alexande looked almost nothing like his father.

His fur was mottled golden-russet, black, and white with a short, slightly bushy, gold and black tail. He had a lean, skinny body and long limbs. His ears were more cat-like than Lai’s - triangular and rounded - but overall he resembled a more canine species. It was common knowledge that his mother had been something called a ‘Painted-dog’. A few here and there remembered her, before she had passed.

Lai came over and lifted his son out of Morgan’s arms, swinging him around and setting him on the bar-counter, both laughing delightedly. The Tavernkeeper looked over at Sirrius and nodded. “Ye can grab these swabs’ attentions now, Jalf.”

Sirrius nodded decisively, then flung her head back, delivering a snarling howl. The customers silenced almost immediately, some trailing off from annoyed mutterings. Satisfied, Lai put his paws on his hips and announced, “Now that I’ve got ye’re ugly-mugged attentions, ye should know that our own fair, Lady Morgan is goin’ to be entreatin’ us with one of her own charmin’ tales this evenin’!”

Although it was hard to hear over the whistling and cheering, Morgan shouted, “They’re not mine! They’re part of our history - can you lot _shuddup_ fer a second? - ye should all be thankin’ Old Masonn! ‘E taught ‘em ta me!”

Eventually the cheering subsided and Morgan sat down on the counter ignoring Lai’s mumbled complaint. The Concolor kept cleaning glasses as everyone settled down. Sirrius and Daniel sat on the floor, the former with her legs folded under her and the other sitting criss-cross, and Nicolai between them as eager as a puppy.

“What story are you gonna tell us, Auntie Mormor?” Ni’lai chirped.

Sirrius couldn’t help laughing as Daniel chimed in.

“Yeah, What story are ye a-tellin’ _Auntie Mormor_?”

Crossing her arms with a flow of her cloak, she glared at Daniel and quipped, “Why, does yer liddle family there have somethin’ in mind?”

A quick glance revealed that they did indeed look like a set of parents with a youngster cuddled between them.

Both hybrids promptly shut up and tried to subtly scoot away from each other as the Tavern roared with laughter. Poor Ni’lai looked confused by it all, unaware of the awkward atmosphere. His little paws clutched the two’s cloaks.

“Look at ‘em, Miche! Prob’ly wishin’ they were a mile away from th’other!”

“Burnin’ like iron tongs through their fur theys are!” 

“Oh-ho-ho; is the mighty Sirrius’n’Daniel _embarassed_ now?”

“Ya know - “

A high pitched yip startled them to silence; Morgan glared around the Tavern, her blue eyes freezing a few hearts in the process.

“Now that ye’ve all _shut up_ for Arath’s sake,” She growled, “Can I go on with the tellin’ now?”

(As much as she liked to tease her friends, it was _her_ job, thank ye very much.)

Many of the gruff, older creatures in addition with her friends nodded their heads vigorously. Any creature knew that although Morgan was normally a timid creature, her temper was nasty when she had one.

Seeing that they were going to be silent, she began.

“Many of ye know of our great founder, and in a sense, ancestor, Anastashia. She had founded Dark Forest in days long ago, and named many, many lands and continents. They called ‘er ‘ _The Great_ ’ and ‘ _The Snowy-pelted_ ’, along with many other names. Her fur whiter than the clouds and her stripes blacker than the abyss.

She has been to the Southern continents, where it is always hot and strange creatures live by the ways of poison; farther South still, where Ice and Cruelty rule the land, only the most vicious surviving. This is where she lost Nu’ah, the regal looking cheetah. He was a mapmaker and an artist, but most importantly, her best friend. It was after this that she passed through Dark Forest for the last time, and headed Far North… ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anastashia isn’t actually stark black and white. She had gray in her fur as well, being part snow leopard. But as legends distort over time, it’s the main colors that are remembered.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it depends upon the teller what sort of style the story will have. Stories - oral ones at least - usually have specific cadences.
> 
> When Anastashia was alive, Ancient Scaiscript was spoken (called Skaie), whereas they now speak Scaiscript. So yes, this entire story is to be seen as a “translation”, and oral stories are a translation of a translation.
> 
> Kodiak is a bear. It’s basically the only non-sentient predator to worry about.

Anastashia was still fairly young - perhaps in her third or fourth decade - when she finally made the decision to go North.

Dark Forest resided at the bottom of a continent named _Airz,_ as you all know; below it were various large islands resting in the heat of the world, and further down was the icy continent named _Ravaark_ , where Nu’ah had been lost and buried. She had named it so, because one of the last things her dear friend had said was, “Don’t be fooled; this land holds much knowledge.”

So she travelled to one of the few places she’d never been - the northern vicinity of Airz. She had named much of the lower areas of Airz, but had not chosen a name for the northern area. She felt that she must. For Dark Forest, Nhinzka of Romn, and even each of the Lonely Isles had names.  


As she trudged North, the land gave way to sparser forests, chillingly cold even in the sun. The wind drove, sharper than Anastashia’s speartip, until no warmth was left in her bones. She awoke one morning to find the land cloud-strewn. Winter had come.

She was so startled and sleep-laden that she wondered if she had ever left Ravaark. But no, the ground was solid beneath the snow, not frigid ice, and although cold, her panting breath wasn’t as visible as it had been far south. A fresh pang of grief gripped her tighter than the chill.

She traveled a few more days, marvelling that the snowy world she had stumbled upon was still full of life; especially if one looked hard enough. She spotted hares - black and white - hopping and darting forward in a race of wakefulness. Hawks still took to the skies with a _skree_ of the hunt, other birds racing against or away from the Red-tail, some crimson and indigo against the snow. She even saw tracks of the Kodiak once, but it caused her no worry. Any creature with sense knew they weaken and rest along with the Arath in winter. The saying was, “Brown pelts disappear just as the brown earth.”

One day, when the snow was less, she came across a den. It was cut through rock, slipping underground, like it led to the depths of eternity. No scent Anastashia could place came from the entrance; rank of must and something like blood on steel. It was obviously not a Kodiak, so she let curiosity guide her closer, where she inspected the strange structure. It appeared to be a small rock hill surrounding the den, but with a closer glance she saw that it was crumbling brickwork. It was a toppled building. She took a step forward, intent to go through the opening.

“ _Sstop!_ ” Something hissed.

The snowy-pelted and ink-striped one halted, then turned. She was surprised by the creature she saw there.

A male (for she was sure by its voice) creature stood there, catlike, with triangular ears and a long tail that was rounded at the tip. The strangeness of him though was his fur - an olive color at the base - covered in strange patterns, with copper coloured eyes. Anastashia, who had faced the Kodiak and lived, had to suppress a shiver. His disposition, his coloring - He seemed… _unnatural._

The copper-eyed male spoke again, his voice hissing with a dry, rustling growl. “You cannot enter in the lair of old - only the _Sethran_ can; No else! That means me, snow-dweller!”

“ _Sethran?_ ” Anastashia repeated. “So you call yourself the ‘speaker of scales’? That is impossible, crazy one, for the _Nidren_ have been gone for many decades. Before your father’s mother’s great-grandsire - and further.”

_(You see, during the times of Anastashia, all spoke Scaiscript, so Ancient Scaiscript was used as we used words of old - and for them, translatable.)_

The Sethran quickly retorted, “Stupid creatures. Not many, but not gone. Some live, and I am nest-mother and hunt-father to them. None may pass to the far-lair but me - for trying, ye shall die!”

As the words left his mouth he sprang at her; she barely had time to lift spear against him. She threw him off, swiping across his face as she did so. He lay on the snow for a moment, feeling a loose tooth with his tongue. She tensed further when he began to laugh suddenly, with a mad sound, an _angry_ sound, and began to push himself up. His copper eyes glittered crazily, and when he spoke, it was dangerously low. 

“No _theargg_ dares fight me,” he snarled. “When the Summer season comes, they shall wake. But now is far from then. So I must destroy the fools who trespass here for them. I am the Sethran, Kearth - so die, Silver-eyes!”

He charged again, slashing at her shoulder faster than she could turn. Blood welled up from the wound, dying her fur red and seeping through the ragged shoulder of her ‘cloak’. When she moved it splattered into the snow below, barely audible as she finished the failed dodge. She moved again, barely avoiding another slash - missing her narrowed, silver eyes - and realized that she wasn’t as swift as Kearth. She was lightly built, but he was taller and leaner. Gripping the handle tightly, she hurled the spear so that it struck the base of a tree-trunk, quivering from the force. She had been dodging strikes, but the strange creature stopped when she threw the spear, momentarily confused. She flexed her claws, a satisfied grin on her muzzle. Now she could fight better.

She charged and met him head-on, gripping his paws as he lunged for her, puzzlement etching his face like a fresh scar. Which is exactly what she gave him. She let go just as quickly, dipping down and then up with a slash across his muzzle, claws digging deep. She wasn’t ice-claws for nothing. His yelp of pain was muffled by the action, gone before she removed her paw to shove him down, her claws digging into his chest. The snow was red. He gripped his muzzle with one paw, red seeping between his claws and fury in his copper eyes. She stepped down harshly on his stomach, winding him with an _‘oomph!’_ There, with two creatures on snow stained with blood, it was obvious that she was a seasoned warrior and he was merely an ignorant defender.

She pushed down again, receiving another _‘Oomf!’_ and gaining his attention. Copper eyes met narrowed ones of silver as she growled, “Kearth, eh? The _Sethran?_ ” she snorted. “Well let me tell you who _I_ am, speaker of scales. I am Silver-eyes, Ice claws, snow-pelted, Inky-striped, and Swift paws!” The hybrid leaned in closer and brought him up by a pawful of chestfur, her voice dropping dangerously low and crackling like electric storm clouds. “ _I_ am Anastashia the great, queen of Dark Forest and the namer of the world. _Who are you, exactly?_ ”

Anastashia flung the strange one down, near the entrance of the lair. She looked down at him with eyes icier than Ravaark itself. She growled, “Go! Back to your lair, impulsive _Sethran_. Go! Back to live in the dark and dank, with your bones and nightmares. Go! And live alone, forever banished beneath the earth; think carefully when next you attack a stranger, because you are sure to find yourself beaten.” Her voice dropped lower, and softer, almost pityingly like ice to snow. “Go,” she said, “and never come back from your grave-home. Into Arath and never return.”

Without another word, Anastashia turned and tugged her spear free, only followed by the crunch of disturbed snow. Kearth the Sethran lay sprawled before his cave and didn’t move until her shadow had faded beyond the winter-gray forest. The copper-eyed one was left to live out his days like a Kodiak in winter; underground and isolated for eternity. 

The great one traveled to who could fathom where, and never returned. The only knowledge was whisperings of travelers too faded to verify, and the names she had bestowed upon the lands.

And that, my friends, is why we call the Northern-easterly reaches of Airz, the lands of mostly winter, _Kearth-argrav._

Kearth’s Grave. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular story is DEFINITELY one of their more weird ones. Possibly mistranslations in-verse. (For example, I’m still deciding between a spear or javelin officially for her, so ‘spear’ is a generalized translation.)
> 
> So the dude thinks he’s the Dinosaur communier basically. Anastashia is tired of all this crap and still grieving for Nu’ah so she’s like, “Ah yes, an idiot to beat up.”
> 
> Also the whole “Anastashia and Nu’ah named the world“ thing is addressed more - and challenged - in the sequel I’m working on.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> My mood is declining so lmbo editing is gonna be a mess.
> 
> Once again, I wrote this entire story in just under six months for my final project in school. My knuckles bled from Becoming too dry and cramped. Also, that was four years ago.
> 
> Sorry I’m just feeling insecure all of a sudden. Because I know how cheesy this gets further on. RIP.

As soon as Morgan’s last word was spoken, a silence prevailed as they all digested the story. Then the Tavern erupted with whooping and cheering; applause that thundered throughout the room. Morgan got off the counter, shuffling her paws in embarrassment. Shouts of “‘Twas well done!” “Good job young’un!” along with many calls for “More!” rang out around the room. Nicolai ceased clapping and threw himself at her, yipping happily.

“Thanks Auntie Mormor! I think ‘twas the best storee ever!”

The fox hybrid gave a delighted bark of laughter. “Of course, Ni’lai. Anytime.”

Sirrius and Daniel exchanged sly smirks; Oh, she was definitely coming back again.

Eventually as the cheering died down, Sirrius decided to speak. Her brow was scrunched, near-black muzzle with an almost frown, as she asked a question she had thought fairly deep about for years.

“But what happened to her, in the end? I mean, how did she die? She was such a great warrior, and an experienced traveller. It’s hard to imagine her dying of old age, when she never came back to Dark Forest; it was her _home_. You would think if she was nearing the end of her life that she would have tried to make her way here. And if she had perished in battle, it would have had to be a tremendous one, and we’d prob’ly have heard of it. So what happened?”

The Tavern was completely silent for a moment, candles in glass jars flickering around the room, the customers (some slack-jawed) thinking on her words. It was a question the great majority of them would never have considered.

The room began clamoring with voices, like the gathering winds of a gale, asking ‘Mo’gan’ if she had the answer. Sirrius’ paws were clamped tightly over her ears, an expression of deep regret and pain on her face. Morgan and Daniel were giving her irritable looks, which she tried to smile sheepishly at, only to wince from the noise. (How any of the beasts in the Tavern weren’t deaf was beyond her.) Morgan tried to shout over the noise, but it was ultimately Laine who got through the cacophony.

“How d’ye expect ta get answers when ye’re TOO LOUD TA HEAR ONE?!”

His voice roared across the (relatively) small room. Satisfied when their chattering ceased, Lai turned politely to Morgan and asked, “If I may, Lady Morgan?”

The black fox gave a small smile and shrugged; she was intrigued as to what he was going to tell the others. No one knew the truth behind Anastashia’s “disappearance” or what had happened to her. After Kearth, no stories appeared. Only vague hints of lands along with names, like trails on a mountain shrouded in mist. It’s like any other history just… vanished. Disappeared without a trace. Gone. Urged by her own curiosity, she granted, “Be my guest, Sir Lai.”

The concolor stood for a moment, eyes roving across the sea of faces. Most held a strong curiosity - like his own son, Nicolai - but others (mainly Daniel, Morgan, and _especially_ Sirrius) were ravenous for any bit of knowledge he could impart. It was a dangerous sort of curiosity that gleamed in their eyes. He had no doubt it would bring them trouble, one day.

Focusing his attention back on what he was doing, Lai spoke loud and clear.

“Remember, creatures can act strange in grief. Perhaps she never got o’er Nu’ah’s death. And, well, it is true - as most of ye have heard - that the death of the great Anastashia is a mystery. But there was one thing my mother by marriage used ta say, that I’m thinking applies well to this.”

He paused a moment, and many leaned forward expectantly.

“Everyone dies - ‘tis a fact - and when they do, they’re gone completely. Bodies to bones, bones to dust, and dust blows away in the wind. Even the great among us. But I don’t think they die the same; whenever _those_ creatures die, it is so utter and complete that nothing tangible remains, except for their stories. _That_ is their reward in life. Alive forever in words interwoven with the times long gone. And if, by some strange miracle, they’re not dead - for are there not creatures known ta live beyond decades? - then they must’ve found peace as they wait for their end.”

Silence hung heavy in the air as those sober, those not, those too old or too young, processed the Tavernkeeper’s words. Any chatter was faint. Taking advantage of the situation, Laine scooped up Nicolai, muttering, “Time fer ye ta go to bed, mate.” Then, loud enough to be heard over his son’s lagard protests, shouted,“ ‘Tis closin’ time! Get yer shaggy hides outta my ‘stablishment afore I kick ‘em out!”

The room was filled with angry mutters as large creatures shoved each other and tried to ‘file’ out. It was lackluster, though, because no one brewed like Laine, and he did not give idle threats - no one wanted to risk being banned.

Lai went upstairs and put Ni’lai to bed, yawns and mutters along the way. The three friends waited in silence as they waited for Laine to return.

Closing the old wooden door to the stair-hall softly, he turned to them with an exhausted sigh and said, “Well? ‘Tis late. Go on ta yer homes an’ get some rest - unless you want me to make ye.”

Seeing he was tired, they promptly got up, ready to leave. Behind her friends a few steps, Sirrius paused at the door, Daniel and Morgan also stopping. The Jalf turned to Lai, intent on asking one last question on her mind.

“Do you really think all that? ‘Bout great beasts, I mean.” She was turned to him, pelt colors softened by the candlelight, and her eyes clear with thoughtfulness.

Lai smiled warmly, a twinkle in his honey-colored eyes. “What d’ye think?”

She matched his grin, fang for fang.

“I’m thinkin’ there’s somethin’ yer not tellin’; but ‘tis too late fer that. ‘Night Laine.”

He nodded once in farewell. “Gu’Night, young Sirrius; Daniel. Good story, Lady Mor, hope ye return wit’ another soon. Ni’Lai would love that.”

Daniel and Morgan gave their goodbyes, waving, and Sirrius gave him one last, long look. Then they were gone, shadows in the night.

Lai went behind the bar counter, considering a round of inventory, but thought against it. Instead he opted to lean his elbows on the counter, gazing around the now-empty room wistfully. He started to talk to the air, as though he were continuing a conversation.

“It’s true; I did leave somethin’ out. In a sense, the great _do_ live longer than most. But not physically, oh no. Only in ink and paper; tongue and voice. Heart and mind. Passed through others and brought back through remembrance an’ thought an’ deed. But I think ye knew that, young one; an’ yer friends too, even if they _don’t_ know they know it.”  
  
He chuckled to himself.

He didn't pay much heed to the creak of paws on the stair floorboards, nor when they left. Though he let a small smile grace his face for a moment. His mischievous son, forgetting that his dad had great hearing.

He sighed then, eyes resting on the scuffed, wooden floor. Clawmarks and those of dragged weapons left their mark there. It was so silent in there, that one could almost hear the shadows cast by the moon’s light as they slowly moved with it. He began to speak again, finishing his half-conversation in a voice much more hushed.

“But villains live on too, Sirrius The Moonblade. It’s merely a matter of those greater surviving the awful; an’ I don’t know if yew and yer friends are ones who will.”  
  
With a great, heavy sigh, he pushed himself off the counter, and went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically Sirrius, Morgan, and Daniel are the last of-age to be warriors (most other kids are around Nicolai’s age), and this the last to join the Forces. But everyone in town knows of their stance on the matter, and seeing them grow up knows they won’t go down without a fight. So they don’t know if they will end up dead or if they may be the catalyst to freedom, in a sense.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maaaaaajor editing and hey, a timeskip! ♪

Summer’s heat lingered as the few deciduous-leaved trees turned from their jaded hue to gold, fire, and the color of bark. Only the pines remained unchanged, maybe losing their needles in larger amounts than before. The winds sprung up, buffeting creatures with the remaining heat, and soil turned to dust. Fallen Autumn had arrived.

The three friends had chatted about it as they wandered the forests, practicing their skills and having fun.

It had been peaceful the last few weeks of Summer, surprisingly. Oh, the Forces harasses townsfolk here and there, but no one had heard much from Darkness himself. It was worrying.

It was during such an Autumn day that Sirrius and her friends were walking through town. It was, during this day, when they would engage in their first fight.

In front of a small home that was partially a trade shop, Aradacraz and three guards under his command (a cloudpard, and two wolfish beasts; all lanky and weasley-looking) were harassing a shortish she-creature. When they drew closer, they saw it was the notorious Misses Finsche. 

Misses Finsch wasn’t a young creature, nor a pleasant one. The fishing cat had a temper as short as she was, and reason as dull as her sight (even _with_ her thick, square glasses.) A snarl on her features as well as in her voice, one did not want to be on her bad side. And if you tried to swindle her in a trade, let’s just say she would ‘mysteriously’ have a new rug to sell on the marrow. It was rumored that she had once been a happy (or at least, happier) beast before the untimely death of her husband. Now she ran the shop alone, things varying from decent to ridiculous in price.

Aradacraz was arguing heatedly with her - obviously more than a little annoyed at her fiery temper and stubborn pride. All four of the younger creatures were dodging swipes from what appeared to be a cane. The cloudpard was especially having a difficult time, trying to dodge while holding a heavy lump of stone, about the size of one of Old Masonn’s forepaws, along with a burlap sack slung on his shoulders most likely full of commandeered treasures. The stone was dark in color, but not exactly black, and the in the light it appeared to crackle with a strange purple fire.

It wasn’t unusually for the Forces - particularly those of higher rank or willing servitude - to take what they please from the townsfolk.  
  
Seeing Aradacraz raise his sword, though, they acted. All of them rushed forward, Sirrius drawing her blade to block the one Aradacraz had procured. Sirrius didn’t see which beasts Daniel and Morgan fought, but she heard her friends growl at their foes. All the while they fought, Misses Finsche was screeching and ranting in the background, “Away ye brutes! Gimme my stuff - Rich an’ I found that far east and burn yer corpses I won’t let ye ‘ave it! _Grarr_! I’ll thump ye then skin ye alive! Won’t be enough ta make rugs when I’m done!” 

Sirrius’ sword clashed on that of Aradacraz’s, both growling furiously. There was a moment where the Captain’s eyes widened as he recognized Sirrius, then narrowed. He pushed hard against her blade, but only succeeding in making her shove roughly in return, causing him to take a forced step back. 

Eyes of pale fire met eyes of dark stone.

The fishing cat kept shouting useless speech as Aradacraz strained to drown her out. “This don’t concern you younglings! Back off now or I’ll take ye in!”

The Jalf was fighting harsher than he had expected, a strange glint in her eyes that made him feel like a hare about to be torn asunder by a Kodiak. It was a similar feel that Darkness gave off. And that frightened him all the more.

Because it made him feel afraid.

Swallowing nervously as he kept pushing against her blade, he bolstered himself with fake confidence. He was a captain, The Captain, if Darkness’ forces! He had authority to do as he pleased.

“Finally I can arrest these troublemakers!” He laughed; turning his attention to the cloudpard, he bellowed without turning,“Straug, get reinforcements!”

The cloudpard made as if to leave, when a blade flashed in front of him, landing betwixt his hindpaws. Dull blue eyes stretched wide as they observed the dagger quivering before them.

“Nice shot, Morgan!” Daniel shouted to the black fox, who merely grunted in response. It had been hard to sling it when dodging the she-wolf’s claws. The delay almost cost her in claw wounds.

Sirrius had gotten disoriented, distracted by her friend’s shout. Aradacraz seized the opportunity and slashed her deeply across the right shoulder. With a growl of pain, she clamped her left paw onto the wound that although wasn’t dangerously deep was still very painful. Aradacraz turned tail and ran, shoving Misses Finsche out of the way.

He almost made it to the cloudpard when, suddenly, he was choked as his cloak pulled him to a halt. Turning, he saw Sirrius’ snarling face, her dark-colored claws digging and ripping through the crimson fabric of his cloak, dark blood seeping between the same metallic claws on the paw holding her wound.

Aradacraz whimpered.  
  
For a second, time seemed to stand still.

Immediately the light died down in her eyes as unconsciousness claimed her. With a groan she fell, a loud thump as she hit the ground. Her weight caused her claws to pull on the fox captain’s cloak, shredding it further. Not that he noticed, staring at the Jalf in warily. Straug was by them, the bag clenched nervously in his paws.

“Sirrius?” Daniel inquired. Seeing her unmoving on the ground, he tried to go to her but was stopped when the male wolf elbowed him sharply in the ribs, winding him. He fell to his knees, the guard quickly driving him into the ground and binding his paws. The cyeetah glanced to see Morgan too had gotten distracted, the she-guard scrabbling for a good-sized rock and smashing it into her skull none too gently, knocking her out. She went down without a sound.

Aradacraz had composed himself and surveyed the scene: the two she-creatures were out, the male awake but captured, and his own Forces beaten sorely. But the news about the fight he had for his master was important and would be well received. He began to sketch out his story, about the struggle of apprehending the three, along with some embellishments so he didn’t look too weak. Nodding to the guards he barked, “Fergit the old’un. We’re gonna bring these ‘uns in along wit’ the loot we got.”

As the three guards scrambled to obeyed orders, Aradacraz grinned nastily at Daniel, ignoring the Cyeetah’s glare.

“They’re Darkness’ prisoners now.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, one of the long chapters.
> 
> This is where I really need to edit since there’s this whole nonsense plot line I added in.
> 
> Alyssum are my fav flowers :3

Daniel was the only one conscious for the journey to the Ruins. Not that he could appreciate it, since he was forced to carry Morgan. Not that she was super heavy, but she was no lightweight. And she was cumbersome, in such a way that he partially carried partially dragged her. Behind him the scraggly wolf-guards ( _“Velreth”,_ Daniel called them under his breath) were struggling to carry Sirrius (who, although she didn’t look it, was most definitely not a lightweight, but a fairly dense-weight creature) and snapped at the cloudpard whenever he offered to help. As a result they dragged her quite a bit; all of them following Aradacraz as he strode out in front like a cat who caught a bird - or, in this case, a captain who caught some prisoners. Daniel wanted to tear the smug look off the fox’s face.

The Ruins were a fair distance away. Although the valley area of Dark Forest territory wasn’t populated as densely as the patches of forests, the crumbling mass that Darkness called home wasn’t visible from the town. 

Where they were walking the path gave way to gritty sand-like soil, until an actual path formed seemingly of nowhere. Daniel’s paws hurt as the pebbles and sharp rocks jabbed into his pads, but he didn’t complain. Aradacraz and his guards said nothing. Looking around, various small blooms caught the cyeetah’s eye from where they grew on the edge of the path and further in the grassy swath: daisies, small and sunflower-like; black-eyed susans, staring at the sky; poppies of orange, and, fire, and cloudless summer sky; marigold with its lion’s mane of petals; clumps of deadly yet elegant Jimsonweed, the false innocence of white; common and woody nightshade grew also, poisonous berries weighing heavy … but what earned his attention were the grouped blooms of minuscule purple-and-white flowers. They were alyssum; Sirrius’ favourite. It amused him that Sirrius loved such plain flowers. Then again, it amused him she _had_ a favourite flower at all.

He recalls Morgan’s favorite too, Delphinium.

Or was it Larkspur?  
  
(Dark Forest’s autumns were mostly warm, so the blooms weren’t surprising. True cold wouldn’t set until the tail-end of the season.)

After stepping on a protrusive stone for the umpteenth time, Daniel was brought back to the reality of the situation. He berated himself for getting distracted by _flowers,_ when he should be finding a way for he and his friends to escape. Any information he could gather would be helpful too - like the route to the Ruins.

But the journey there was silent, and nothing of interest (aside from the route itself) occurred. Until they got to the Ruins, of course.

* * * * 

Like a dead tree on a cliff edge, The Ruins stood tall and unrelenting between the open, grassy area they travelled and the edge of another forest. A tall, gray heap of stones that seemed as old as Arath itself stood in the late noon sun. No spires, nor towers rose from it, despite the building shape appearing to be mostly whole. When they got close enough to see its withered, ancient wooden doors, Daniel glanced around and realised that the Ruins were made from huge blocks of stone. They were probably fallen from years unknown, weather bringing about the bulging and crumbling parts that gave it the name ‘ruins’.

A sound caused Daniel to whip his head back towards the doors, and he gaped slightly when the saw the imposing and tall structures shift, one of them being pushed open by two guards, one a scruffy coyote and the other a ligonish creature. The two wolf guards that accompanied him snarled at him to move forward. Hoisting Morgan’s limp form back over his shoulder, he did just so.

The inside was dim, with very few small windows high up, letting in minimal light. It dissipated quite a bit, never quite lighting the floor stones; small torches were attached to the walls in little brackets at intervals. It didn’t help very much, though, and it was as dim as an overcast pretwilight. Except, of course, for the odd area where roof crumbled in, sometimes doubly so that meager light filtered through the roof and room above.

He was turned down many halls, most without windows and so dark he relied on his night vision (which wasn’t very good), until they stopped in a hall with no torches but (luckily) two lower windows. A few cells, clumped in pairs, dotted along the wall. The hall formed a T with the one they were exiting. Looking at the cells it was apparent that each cell-pair had a stone wall (with a ledge) along with the ‘back’ wall being stone, and a shared wall made up of vertical cell bars. Aradacraz strode forward and unlocked one - facing it, the stone wall was on the left and the shared wall on the right - growling at Daniel and his unconscious friends, “Get in there, ye sons of yer mothers!”

Daniel glared at the guard as he walked forward, carefully letting Morgan slide from his shoulders. The scrawny wolves (who Daniel suspected were hybrids; coyote or fox. They were _too_ thin to be pure wolf) dumped Sirrius on the ground. There was a rusty squeak, and a loud _clank_ resonated as the door was angrily shut. Looking over his shoulder to the left, Aradacraz growled at some unseen entity, “You! Get over here _now_ \- ye’re on guard duty.”

The cloudpard was left to hang their weapons on a far wall diagonal to them. Finished, he received their stolen loot and left down another hall.

Then Aradacraz and his comrades shuffled off down the original corridor, no doubt to report the recent development to Darkness.

“They’ll be back later,” a wary voice sounded from the gloom.

Squinting, Daniel saw a dark figure come into focus. It was hard to see him; he appeared to melt into the shadows. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the creature was some type of wolf, a little taller than Morgan, but shorter than Sirrius’ and himself. His fur was dark - though not quite dark enough to be black - and his eyes a strange, pale purple. It was like they sucked in and reflected all the light in the room.

Seeing that Daniel was staring at him, the wolf shuffled awkwardly, clearly embarrassed. Daniel raised a brow in confusion; this wolf-thing - a male, going by the voice - was probably a year or three older than him, _and_ one of Darkness’ Forces. What reason could he have to be _embarrassed?_

“I’m a Vairrn wolf,” he said at last, replying to Daniel’s unanswered question. “We’re … not a common species in these parts. My name’s Ravaark.” He half-extended a paw to shake, then seemed to think better of it as he dropped the paw, giving an odd look to the cell bars. 

A groan drew the attention of both male creatures towards the cell floor. Morgan tried to sit up, a paw on her forehead and her eyes closed, muttering, “Wha’ ‘bout Ravaark. Are we there or sumthin’?”

Next to her, Sirrius muttered a string of unintelligible words ( _sounded like ancient scaiscript swears,_ Daniel thought) but she showed no other signs of waking.

As Morgan groggily got up, Daniel quelled down a chuckle and said, “No, we’re not _in_ Ravaark. That happens ta be th’name of our guard. He’s a, uh,” he glanced at the wolf who mouthed ‘Vairrn’. “Er, Vairrn wolf.”

“Oh,” she replied, opening her eyes. When she did and caught sight of Ravaark, she just said, “Oh…” again.

He waved awkwardly. “Hi, I’m Ravaark,” he greeted, stumbling slightly.

“Not to be _rude,_ ” Daniel cut in with a slight growl before any other words could be exchanged. “But ye’re one of Darkness’ _Forces -_ by her ink-colored stripes. Why so… friendly?” He narrowed his brown eyes in suspicion.

“Not all of us _want_ to serve him,” he snapped back, surprising the Cyeetah. He bared his teeth in anger, though not at Daniel. “I had no choice to be here.”

“Did you?” Daniel countered aggressively.

“Guys! _Enough!_ ” Morgan cut in before the verbal battle became physical. “Daniel, what you say is true - we can’t just blindly trust him. But Ravaark is right too. We can’t just condemn him ‘cause of the position we’re in. We’re - ”

“ - Better than that. So we should take everything in stride. It is well known that many have been forced to join.” Sirrius’ voice had cut her off suddenly, startling all in the room. Turning around, Daniel and Morgan gave a collective sigh. Sirrius was okay. But then their eyes widened when they took in her overall appearance: Ruffled and tired looking with blood clumping the dusty brown fur on her arm, but her eyes were bright fire and dark stone - she seemed to be gripping her head with her bound paws as best as she could. She gave Ravaark a nod, who merely wore an unreadable expression. “I’m Sirrius The Moonblade.”

“Morgan Blueshaft.” the fox yipped cheerily.

“Daniel Sunshard,” he grumbled.

“Nice ta meet you all.” The Vairrn wolf bobbed his head in a strange nod. “Ravaark. I’m yer guard, and I am truly sorry to see ye here.”

Morgan decided that Ravaark wasn’t a threat; and she was curious by what he meant earlier. “What did you mean ye’re here ‘not by choice’,” she asked inquisitively. They locked eyes.

Pale purple and cerulean sky. His expression became wistful and somewhat haunted as he explained. “My village and a neighboring group of wolves called Fearge wolves were constantly fighting one another. They were ruddy-pelted with strange yellow eyes, whereas we have darker pelts and pale purple eyes. Neither side was bad, exactly. I actually have relatives among the Fearge. Anyways, one day a war broke out between our two villages; I suspect Darkness provoked the attack. I-I’m not completely sure, since we were so young.” He bowed his head, silent for a moment. Then continued, “My brother, Vaarz - he’s actually my twin, though much larger than me - he and I were taken in by Darkness and his group. We’ve been here ever since. Heck,” he started chuckling suddenly. “I remember when that carcass-sniffer, Aradacraz joined. By his frozen death, I’ve been here long,” he mused.

“So, you’re here ‘cause of yer brother… ?” Daniel asked.

Ravaark winced. “Not exactly. There isn’t great love between us, I’m sad to say. He’s not _bad_ ; we just never got along. It was just us and I think he resented having to take care of me. For years we stayed because there was simply nowhere else to go; we had nothing. Now, though, he stays because of his mate - a Fearge wolf named Kelte’aine. An’ I stayed ‘cause… well, I have no one else now. Nowhere to go and no reason to do so.” His head hung low, but his eyes flickered up to them. For a look that should have been wolfish and threatening, he looked… _sad_. Ashamed, even.

Morgan’s heart went out to him. “I’m sorry,” was all she could say.

His eyes met her’s again. “I-”

“Not to interrupt another _moment_ ,” Daniel chimed in, his tone almost playful, though still laced in a slight snarl. He didn’t trust this Vairrn, despite his sob-story. His tone turned more serious. “But why does Darkness want us? I would have expected our execution by now. No death penalty fer ‘rebelling’ or sumthin’ like that.” He made quotation marks when saying this. Then continued, “But Aradacraz made it seem like we have somethin’ else coming.”

Ravaark looked to the floor again, this time guiltily. “It’s. . .something about yer rebelliousness mebbe. That you’re the last of the young’uns to defy.”

He exhaled slowly, then met their eyes with reluctance. “Or, perhaps because she’s a Jalf.”

“ _What?”_ Daniel growled angrily. Sirrius’ flicked her ears back when she heard the growl in his voice. _Calm down, Idiot. Or they’ll hear ya all the way back at Lai’s Tavern._

“What does _that_ have to do with anything?” He demanded.

Ravaark was taken aback by the ferocity in his voice. But Morgan gave him a reassuring look. “Calm down, Daniel,” she said, glaring at her friend. “Not ‘is fault; He’s jus’ tellin’ us what he knows. This does _not_ help the rumors ‘bout you two,” she added with a devious smirk that made Daniel _and_ Sirrius appear miffed. Ravaark tilted his head in confusion. “Rumors? What rumors?” he asked.

Daniel shot her a pleading glance; _Good,_ she thought with satisfaction. _Now he’s not annoyed with Ravaark._

“Oh, nothin’,” she said to her friends’ relief. “Your c’n continue now, ‘Vaark.”

Daniel and Sirrius shared confused looks, getting over their embarrassment momentarily. ‘ _Vaark?’_ she mouthed. He shrugged. Then they locked eyes and looked away from one another immediately. They both directed their gazes at Ravaark as he continued to explain.

“Well, y’see… Darkness ain’t a stupid beast - an overly terrifyin’ brute, mayhaps, but not stupid. He believes certain species are stronger’n others. Certain species are born with abilities diff’rent than others.”

“Abilities?” Sirrius echoed.

“Aye.” He nodded. “Abilities. Things some c’n do an’ others can’t. Y’know, like...er, yer smith. He’s really strong, right? An’ he can create _really_ good weapons; strong ones that balance right, crafted for the beast that takes ‘em, correct?” They nodded. “That’s cos of ‘is strength and knowledge. He _knows_ what materials ta use, how to mold them fer a purpose. Well Darkness has … other abbilities.”

“What d’ye mean?” Daniel asked, leaning forward and gripping the cell bars.

Ravaark looked at the Cyeetah. “He’s … not normal; obviously. You’ve always noticed that, haven’t ye? But not jus’ cause he’s strong ‘n’ smart. There’s more behind his current power.”

“Bu… But what do ye mean? What’re his ‘abilities’?” Morgan piped up.

Purple eyes met cerulean. His voice dropped low, as he spoke reluctantly.

“He’s… there’s rumors. Rumors that Darkness is only an echo of ‘himself. Wait, lemme finish,” he held up a paw to stall their questions. There was a clack as all three snapped their jaws shut.

He looked away momentarily, then back at Morgan. He found it easier to explain when he focused on her trusting face.

“He’s, well, real and alive like yew an’ me, but there’s something really off ‘bout him, not right. It’s like ‘e’s not … how do I put this?” He scratched behind one of his ears before deciding on a word. “Solid? I guess that works. He’s flesh an’ fur, but ‘e’s also not. Well, at leas’ like we are. I mean, he’s _solid,_ but, erm, like he’s made of somethin’ else... “ he ventured, a frustration growling in his voice.

Daniel sighed and looked skyward, unduly frustrated himself. “Ye’re confusin’ me even more, but I’ll try an’ follow along with ye. _What’s_ he made of then? Fire ash?” Sirrius snorted at that.

Ravaark began fiddling with his claws. “Well, he is what he is. Darkness. I mean, ‘e’s _made_ of darkness; dark deeds an’ thoughts. Like a personif’cation of the element.”

“But how?” Morgan asked as they grasped the information lightly. It seemed ridiculous - it was certainly unheard of. But everyone know Darkness was an unnatural creature.

The blackish wolf shrugged. “Like I said: ‘tis only rumors. Maybe ‘e’s the only one, or maybe it ‘as ta do with ‘is species. It’s jus’ his _ability._ All I know is that every since he heard about you three. . .’E’s takin’ great interest, particularly in yer leader.” He gestured to Sirrius.

“Leader?” She snorted. “I’m not the leader.”

Morgan and Daniel shared a look. “Actually. . .”

“Ye’re joking - we’re equals, none of us are the ‘leader‘.” She emphasized this with air quotes. “Always have been.”

“Since we were little, you’ve been the leader,” Daniel put bluntly. “Since the first day we met. Me an’ Mor. . .we’ve known one another since we were toddlers. But when we met you. . .things changed.”

“It’s true,” Morgan cut in before Sirrius could protest. “You lead our games. Our hunts. Yo’re the one who asked Old Masonn to train us.” She scooted over to her friend, awkwardly put her bound paws on her shoulder. “We _trust_ you. It’s not a bad thing, Sirrius.”

“I-“

“ _Hssshhh_!” Ravaark whispered harshly as he hopped up - at some point he had sat on the ground. “Some ones comin’!”

He stood back to attention, looking every inch the indifferent guard. The three friends in the cell kept close together, glaring through the bars.

It was Captain Aradacraz, swaggering up to the cell. “Up on yore hunkers, Jalf! Ye’re to come with me.”

Unlocking the door, he let it swing open. He made to grab at Sirrius’ bound paws, but a snarl and snap of her teeth made him retract his paw.   
  
“I’m comin’ you-“

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you,” Aradacraz growled. “I wouldn’t hesitate ta run you through.” He closed and relocated the door, sneering at Daniel and Morgan - who looked ready to tear his throat out. “Don’t even think of escapin’, or your liddle friend here will get it.” He prodded Sirrius’ back with his old sword.

They held back growls and insults, giving Sirrius a quick nod as she was lead off.

She even caught Ravaark give a half-hearted wave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darkness is prideful, and arrogant, so Sirrius being another Jalf interests him greatly.
> 
> Yes, Ravaark is a sweet boy. And as for why his colors are similar to Darkness. . .he was actually a character from a different thing, and his species was called Shadren. I later decided to implement him in this.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the actual chapter I had before this I’m completely scraping and replacing with a different filler chapter as the _next_ chapter.
> 
> Light and dark references are completely metaphorical of course. It’s supposed to be that there’s a balance - dark doesn’t actually mean evil, not light good; that’s a misunderstanding on the characters’ part. There’s a time and place for “dark” or “light” of a person. Not gonna explain further because migraine sucks.

They walked down the halls in a silent procession; a guard was on either side of the Jalf, and a torch in each of their free paws, following the silver fox who strode out in the front. Sirrius glanced at each of her guards: a burly dogfox with rye-colored fur and eyes like a tiger, the other a tall, but not overly hefty, male wolf with odd yellow eyes and not-quite-black fur. This must be Ravaark’s brother, Vaarz, she realized suddenly.

They continued down the halls, so quiet, that they could hear near-silent pawsteps echo forlornly. Sirrius decided against trying to converse with Vaarz. His own brother didn’t put much trust in him. And Aradacraz was sure to look for any excuse to punish her and her friends. It wasn’t worth it if he harmed them.

Eternities passed with the soft flicker of torches, the gloom surrounding them more desolate than daunting.

Finally, they slowed as they passed through a large, open doorway, stopping in what appeared to be a throneroom. The throne itself - an ageworn thing of gray stone - melted against the gray stone walls, covered in a dark shadow that, Sirrius realized with a start, was Darkness. He was sitting casually on the throne, leaning with his muzzle propped up on his right paw. Only his eyes moved, a dangerous fire flickering in their depths. Silence blanketed the room like night across sky. They waited.

Darkness was studying her, Sirrius noticed, his eyes boring into hers like he was searching for something. She narrowed her own eyes angrily, though inside she was full of fear. Darkness gave forth a low, rumbling chuckle, canines gleaming, then addressed Aradacraz and his subordinates.

“Make sure her paws are well binded; we don’t want her to do anything she might regret.” He shot a mocking look her way. Then continued, “after, dismiss these two idiots. Then guard the door, Aradacraz, in case she gets any _dangerous ideas.”_

Aradacraz looked bewildered. “But Sire -” he was cut off by Darkness’ annoyed growl, bowing hastily. Then he turned to the two guards (who had just finished binding her paws behind her back, sure to yank on it so she snarled) and ordered them sharply, “Leave, you fools. Zrahg, go and check the perimeter. Vaarz, return to the barracks and give them an inspection immediately. Now!” 

They quickly scurried out of sight. Then Aradacraz saluted, and went to guard the doors, glowering the whole time. They shut with a resounding _boom._

It was silent again; Sirrius standing tall and defiant in the dark creature’s presence. He came down off his throne, echoing the same power that she herself walked with, though magnified greatly, and padding almost silently across the stone floor. He had his paws folded behind his back, almost diplomatically, like a person of great power. He prowled in front of his throne, speaking in a voice softer than rabbit fur, but as dangerous and harsh as broken ice. It took Sirrius a moment, but she realized his words were in Scaiscript, and that they were words she understood with her meager learning of the old tongue. It was a song of sorts. An eerie, song of evil and cunning. None of it rhymed in the common tongue.

_“Tear out their hearts,_

_Then offer them back._

_They’ll reach with outstretched claws,_

_Begging and offering all that they can._

_Families and possessions; all one holds high._

_Service and blood, their sanity they’ll give;_

_Perhaps one day, but no time soon,_

That the hope they hold and their own heart betrayed them.”

She couldn’t stop her fur from standing on end, nor her ears from flickering back. But she stood her ground.

He chuckled harshly, amused with himself. The last line had been said in their everyday language, brutally and growling. Darkness tilted his head and grinned maliciously, eyes gleaming.

“Well, young Jalf. It’s true, isn’t it? Take a thing that’s most precious, and any creature will become a willing fool. It can be anything: loved ones, valuables, land, life.” He stopped, as though contemplating something. “It is not just power one needs; if ye also have cunning, then ye can have power over any beast. An idiot cannot hold onto power with strength alone, and the sly beast needs a little force with him. Now,” he stopped pacing and looked at her. She tried to suppress a shudder as his bright eyes burned into her. “What shall we do wit’ ye, daughter of the dark?”

Her blue-gray eyes blazed, a growl tearing through her throat. “I am no daughter of dark, ye son of yer mother!” she snapped. It was an old insult, meaning a creature enjoyed to kill for killing’s sake, amongst other things.

Rather than angrily lash out at her (as she had expected), Darkness merely chuckled. “Ah, but aren’t ye? Jalf, the strength and cunning of the best hybrid. You would have gladly killed my Captain to protect your friends.” He leaned forward, eyes burning darkly, and although he was quite a few feet away, she took a step back. “And, enjoyed it I’m sure. Any little light left in you will fall away to shadows, once you taste blood.”

“You don’t know that,” she managed to growl. “We are born with as much light as dark; and if some can gain more ‘darkness’, then they can also gain more ‘light’. Only monstrous beasts like _you_ fall further in the dark - aye, an’ are stupid enough to let it control them.”

“Are you sure?” Suddenly he was behind her, rank breath hot on her neck and speaking low in her ears. “Yes, Sirrius, even you have light like all; even I can see it. But does not light contrast and make the shadows darker? The darkness stronger? There is no true good or evil, not in this world.” He prowled around her slowly, neon eyes boring into her. “No creature is fully light nor fully dark. We are made of grayscale; lighter and darker shades of the twilight. Do ye know why? There is no night ever without stars or moon, where only the dark nothingness exists. The day is not just blazing sunlight with no cool shadows. Light, Dark. They are so tied together that the line between them is hazed. So aye, little Jalf, you have lightness inside ye, but know this: it will always be draped with shadows.”

Sirrius took to glaring at him; her fear allowed no words. She was enraged, and showed her fangs in a soundless snarl, white canine gleaming against her almost-black muzzle. It was all she could think to do.

Darkness gave his own fang-filled, toothy smile, like he had just discovered a great secret. He clapped a great paw on her shoulder, claws always unsheathed. He didn’t miss the slight flinch she tried to conceal, nor the stiffness that made her rigid as he led her to the door none too gently.

“I was glad we could have this little chat, _Ser’Arren._ Aradacraz,” he addressed the fox as he continued to open the large door. “Follow us; I need you to open the cell door and her shackles.” He removed his paw from her shoulder, but kept in step with her as they made their way back.

She sent him a concealed glare, growling under her breath, “I would never serve the likes of you.”

Darkness twitched an ear, obviously hearing the comment. He spoke back in a low tone, as though the two were engaged in a private conversation that he didn’t want Aradacraz in. If the silver fox noticed - which she doubted - then he made no comment.

“I know I can’t use yer friends nor family ‘gainst ye, Sirrius, Or yer life. I know you and yer _loyal_ companions would fight to the death if need be. So no, Sirrius, I won’t threaten them as a means to git to ye. But that’s not the only way to get to a creature. There are many other things, like desires … and _fears_.”

They had reached the hall where her cell was located. Daniel, Morgan, and Ravaark watched in silence as they returned, the two jailed-beasts almost wide-eyed. The Vairrn wolf had probably woken the other two up after her departure. They saw their hybrid friend return, paws bound behind her and fury filling her face. 

Then Daniel and Morgan saw the strangest thing.

While Aradacraz unlocked the cell door, Darkness stopped a moment, like he had forgotten something important. “Oh, and one more thing, Surren.” He leaned over and whispered something in her ear, hushed and excited, as though imparting a great secret to a friend. Daniel and Morgan, who knew Sirrius so well, saw the emotion drain from her face and her eyes become dull. Her look was akin to horror. She quickly assumed a neutral expression when he was done speaking to her. At a nod from his master, Aradacraz undid her shackles and shoved her roughly through the cell door. They left without another word.

With the echo of their cell door grating shut still ringing in their ears, they quickly helped her up from where she had fallen.

“What’d he say to you?” Daniel asked with furious concern. He was more worried than curious.

“Nothing,” she said hollowly. “Jus’... nothin’.”

They sat in silence for a moment, respecting their friend’s non-vocalized wish. She would tell them when she was ready. After a few awkward moments, she spoke, much to everyone's’ surprise.

“We need to devise an escape plan. I… have a really bad feeling. It’s like… our being here is endangerin’ others.”

“Ye’re right,” Daniel began. But then a sharp hawk-whistle cut him off. They looked at Ravaark, who had made the noise. He was grinning triumphantly. 

“I got a plan, but ye’re gonna have ta trust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Darkness’ background won’t be delved into (mostly because I chose not to make one). All you need to know is that he came from fairly far away, and his birth name is Myyst (can be spelt Mysst.)
> 
> He’s literally evil because he’s corrupt. Not because of tragedy or any realistic reasons. Told y’all this story was cheesy.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darkness told her that he was a Jalf, and that he’ll be watching her, basically.
> 
> This filler is gonna be more Ravaark and Morgan focused because I never did it in the original :/

Sirrius was quiet, and contemplative after her return. When Daniel was convinced to leave Sirrius alone (Morgan was the more intuitive one of the group - she knew her friend would talk when it was time), Ravaark outlined his plan.  
  


It was simple - a sketch of an idea, really. It would take time to fill the holes. Plus, there was the matter of Vaarz. . .

When night fell, they curled on the ground as best as they could, using their cloaks for comfort. Sirrius and Daniel were asleep close by. Morgan has inched closer to the bars, where Ravaark sat, his back to the cell, dozing on and off. Laying on the floor, she whispered. “Hey.”

A moment of silence, before he shifted. “Hey,” he whispered back.

She studies him in the gloom. Her night vision is excellent, and with the autumn moon outside she can easily distinguish him from the shadows. “Thank you.”

“Hmm?” His ears prick but he doesn’t turn.

“For helping us; thank you. I. . .know it’s a danger.” She ignores the bit of guilt.   
  
He turned a little to look at her. “Of course. You’re . . .you’re innocent of all of this. And, I’m tired,” He sighed, “tired of all of this. Something. . .” He shook his head, then turned to look at her more fully. “Anyways, I’ve been wanting to escape out of here myself for a long time.”

She sat up a little. “And. . .your brother?”

Ravaark chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. “I may have been misleading when I said there was no love ‘tween us. He’s still my brother, and I care about him, even if we’re not close. And I know he keeps his distance for just that reason.” He’s quiet for a moment. Then, dropping his voice, “family loyalty isn’t allowed, here. It’s loyalty to Darkness, or else you’re commitin’ treason. If it can’t be beat out of you, then. . .”

Morgan thought about her friends sleeping behind her. Daniel, who may as well be her brother. Sirrius, like a sister.

She would fight claws and blood if anyone tried to separate them.

“I’m sorry,” was all she could say.

Ravaark settles himself down on the floor, on his back. “Nothin’ you could do, though something can be done, now. Best to wait for the right opportunity. Don’t want things ta go on too long, but we also want ‘em to drop their guard.”

“Will your brother be safe?” She reaches out through the bars.

Without hesitation, Ravaark clasps his paw with hers. “Aye. He can take care of ‘imself. He has his wife ‘E’s been protecting all this time. He’s cunning enough.” He gives her a wink, grinning. “Plus, I have an idea that’ll cover his involvement.”

She grins as well. “Well, long as ye’re sure.”

“Of course. Now get some sleep. And. . .just remember.“

Morgan was drifting off already, but she made sure to listen even as she fell asleep.

“When the time comes - we run.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He was gonna say “something about you guys inspires hope”.
> 
> Yes RavaarkXMorgan is a canon ship. Recommended listening is Run(Demo) by Daughter. (Has to be the demo!!! It’s acoustic :3)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *me trying to hurry and edit as many chapters as I can before Darktober, as well as so I can be done with this*
> 
> This is the last chapter probably until after October!

On the outside, the land around the ruins had died away in gold, then brown, until only the hardy evergreen plants still stood. Any creature could see that the autumn season was near its end. Inside, the three prisoners were biding their time, until the opportunity presented itself for them to put Ravaark’s plan into action. It wasn’t the most ingenious or elaborate plan (Daniel actually thought it bordered stupid, though he didn’t say so) but it was worth a shot.  
  
It was hard to tell, from inside what the weather was fully like. Hopefully, they made it out before the first snows. (They were fed meagerly, and there had been no other audiences with the Captain or his Lord. Ravaark was still their guard - it was a punishment, though he didn’t elaborate. They could only guess they were kept here so long to weaken their resolve.)

It was another dreary day in the cell, with a chill seeping through the walls and fur alike. It brought small promises of rain, and the not-quite bite of snow. Sirrius felt a slight pang of loss that her favourite season was ending, and, looking out the small cell window at the high-up gray sky, she breathed a little poem that she recalled.

“If I were a season, 

What season I’d be?

Why I’d be th’autumn

With gold’n crowned tree. 

Where warmth presides

And there you will see,

The warm Santa-anas

Fly my leaves, free!

Sing ring-a-ling hey,

Ring-ling-a-ling,

Skipping away 

Through the woods of dead Spring.

Hey-a-lay, the Solstice at loss, 

Goodbye, 

Winter, Summer, 

For bold Equinox!” 

The last line rang quietly through the cell-hall, until it was lost like the last orange leave through storm winds. No one stirred, and Sirrius was left bored again. She considered waking someone - maybe Daniel? - but thought against it. They all needed the sleep they could get before the big escape. She unsheathed her metal claws without thinking, tapping them on the stone floor in frustration.

_Chink, chink, chink, chink, chink, chink, chink, chi-_

“Could you stop that afore I’m driven ta madness? By his frozen corpse and the silver eyed-one! That’s as annoyin’ as Aradacraz’s voice.”

Sirrius glanced in surprise at Ravaark, who leaned against the opposing stone wall with his eyes closed. He flicked an ear in irritation, the only real sign that he was awake.

The Jalf glanced at her friends, making sure they were still asleep, then replied in a hushed tone, “Sorry ‘bout that. Didn’t mean ta wake you - or drive ye mad.”

Ravaark gave a small grin, his eyes still closed. “Don’t worry much about it; it ain’t hard to go insane here. An’ as to th’noise - experience made me notice. Sounds kinda like some creature scrapin’ with a lock.” He opened his eyes to wink, and with that she knew it was a joke.

Silence set between them for a good while. She tried to think of something to converse about - after all, she now had something else to do instead of dying of boredom - when Ravaark’s purple eyes flickered open again and he sighed. She knew he had something he wanted to say, so she let him gather his thoughts. He looked guilty and conflicted, but full of resolve.

His eyes flickered to her, than away. “There’s somethin’ I never fully told you guys,” he began. “An’ I prob’ly should ‘ave explained before.”

“Most of us in the Ruins knew ‘bout ‘Craz the crazy going after you. Someone caught something or some such nonsense,” he snorted, “it’s not hard to notice when Darkness takes an interest in something. I. . .thought about volunteering in the capture. Mebbe I coulda done somethin’.” His shoulders slumped. “So, I’m sorry.”

There was another stretch of silence as she processed his confession. He waited in agonizing silence, expecting her to be a bit angry. After all, he was a coward, wasn’t he?

He was surprised when she wasn’t.

“Thank ye fer telling me, Ravaark. I understand that disobeying Darkness is death, and that you couldn’t risk it all on beasts ye didn’t know. It also helps me see how trustworthy you can be. I won’t tell the others; that’ll be for you to decide.”

Ravaark let out a sigh of relief. “O’ course. Thanks, Sirrius.” His eyes lit up with a grin suddenly, as he went on, “Now, about the _plans_. I was thinkin’ it might be time to put them into action... ”

She gave him rapt attention as he spoke excitedly, obviously thinking his plan that was so simple would get them out easily. A few hours later, they woke the others up, and discussed the final preparations.

* * *

It was about three days later when they were finally forced to act.

There were many whisperings in the decadent halls; many sorrowful or gleeful glances at the prisoners when guards passed through their halls. Ravaark, generally, kept an air of apathy and obedience when among the forces. It was how one survived there. Most of the Forces didn’t actually know about the Vairrn’s timid and kind nature; a beast with fangs in his bite and a growl in his bark guarded the prisoners when they were around. Of course, Aradacraz had his suspicions, Vaarz was his brother (and by default, Kelte’aine his ‘sister’), and Darkness seemed to not be fooled for a moment.

On that day of escape, one of the lower downs - the cloudpard, Straug - had stopped by the cell to inquire of the prisoners. He wasn’t an entirely stupid creature, but there was definitely more air than brains in his head, as they said.

Ravaark looked vastly different at the other guard’s attendance: He stood straight and tall, a sort of dangerous stoicism sculpting his features. His eyes held a storm, though, the only emotion to bleed through was the annoyance of an intelligent creature in the insufferable presence of a complete moron. 

In this case, Straug was the moron. 

(Ravaark _was_ irritated that a guard had showed up, but he actually didn’t mind Straug all that much).

“So you gotta watch ‘em alla time, Sir ‘Vaark? Have’n they tried ‘scapin’ yet? They were a han’ful ta get here, I’ll tell ye that.”

“It’s Sir _Ravaark,_ to ye,” he growled, letting anger spark through his eyes and voice. “An’ no - so far’s been no trouble. They ain’t stupid, unlike you, and are more inclined to regard Darkness’ threats. Unnerstand?” Ravaark’s eyes flashed menacingly.

The insult hadn’t bothered Straug, but he was obviously intimidated by the larger Vairrn wolf. “O-of course, Sir Ravaark,” the cloudpard complied a little nervously. “Jus’ a liddle curiosity on my part. Ye know ‘ow us lower rankin’ ones are… ” Ravaark’s frosty glare caused him to trail off. Realizing that he had outstayed his welcome, Straug bowed low, then left in a rush.

Ravaark was about to rid himself of his guise, but a voice cut through and stopped him from doing so.

“Now, brother, that wasn’t very nice of you.”

Vaarz faded in from the gloom, his strange yellow eyes calculating.

“Vaarz,” Ravaark greeted coldly. Although he knew his brother was aware that the façade was just that, a façade, he kept it up around him. Plus, he could have other guards prowling not far behind.

He looked just like Ravaark, only with strange yellow eyes instead of soft purple, and about a foot taller. He was more calculating too, with more curiousity than wariness. Like his brother, he carried no personal weapon - just took whatever was handed to him and made do.

Ravaark knew his brother must be suspicious, and he hoped - he prayed - that his brother wouldn’t stop him.

Vaarz looked over at the prisoners, eyes locking briefly with each one, then back to Ravaark. He saw why Darkness wanted them, but made no comment about it. Instead, he said in a voice smooth as honey and fresh as frost, “I’m assumin’ Darkness will be wantin’ to see ‘em soon.” He raised a brow slyly.

Ravaark’s brow rose in surprise (and the three prisoners’ jaws unhinged slightly in shock.) He quickly relaxed, thinking of what to say. With a sigh, he answered dutifully, “Aye. Asked ta see ‘em this afternoon. He’s been tryin’ ta get some sorta _infermation_ outta them.”

“Well then,” Vaarz cocked his head. “I’ll have ta make sure that _no one_ bothers ye, an’ that ‘tis Darkness orders.” He smirked knowingly.

A grin spread across Ravaark’s face; he couldn’t believe his luck. His brother was _helping_ him. Not just turning a blind eye. And he knew it was genuine, because he would have already told Darkness. Vaarz wasn’t one to make elaborate plans for betrayal. “Aye, ye do that. His Lordship will be pleased.”

Vaarz nodded once, then left.

“Will some’un tell me what _that_ was all about?” Morgan asked irritably. Sirrius muttered under her breath and counted claws like she was figuring out a math problem, brows drawn together in concentration.

Daniel’s eyes lit up as he understood. “It seems like ‘Vaark’s brother is helpin’ us out,” he explained. Morgan and Ravaark gave him weird looks at the friendly nickname he used.

“Aye,” he confirmed slowly. “Dunno why, but he is.”

“Things should go much smoother now,” Sirrius added.

All Morgan said was, “Oh.”

Ravaark slumped against the wall, filled with relief. He was still surprised by his brother’s help, for he had never shown affection before. Perhaps that had changed. Or, he mused, he hated Darkness enough that anything to spite him was welcome. And this would _definitely_ irritate Darkness. The thought of Darkness outraged face made the Vairrn wolf chuckle. Ah, sweet justice.

Daniel smirked, revealing the tips of sharp little fangs. “What’s so funny, chucklechops?” The happy atmosphere was getting to him.

Ravaark fought back laughter, trying to wipe back not-yet-tears of mirth. “Ha! Nothin’ fer you ta worry ‘bout. There’ll be time fer laughter later - after we escape,” he said, sobering up a little.

Sirrius face adopted a morbid look as she muttered, “Long as we’re not dead.”

* * *

“I don’t want them dead.”

The statement reverberated throughout the throne room. 

Darkness stood, paws folded behind his back, leaning towards an ancient map that lay sprawled across a section of wall. His neon eyes flickered back and forth between elegant scrawlings of _Vaarz, Rohm, Nhinzka, The Lonely Isles, Ravaark,_ and _Airz._ His eyes stilled on the last one, their continent, straying to the faded words, _Dark Forest._ Tiny, almost at the bottom of the continent. Almost unnoticeable, really.

Aradacraz stood silently, a paw on his swordhilt. The sudden noise startled the fox Captain. He recovered quickly, though, and promptly answered, “Yes, Sire.”

It was silent once again, except for the crackling of torch fire in their holders. Aradacraz could hear his own breathing, but not Darkness’. The large Jalf was, obviously, by the expansion and contraction of his chest, but his breath was silent as sunrays. Aradacraz had no clue how he did it; become like such silence.

Movement caught his eye, and he saw Darkness shift softly to look closer at the yellowed map. Unnerving purple eyes glowed as he gleaned whatever it was he was looking for. Nodding in satisfaction, he stood up straight and prowled over to his throne, leaving the old-world style map. Aradacraz knit his brow in confusion, then shook his head once, lightly. Darkness _cared_ for that map, strange as it was. It wasn’t his place to question, the silver fox decided.

Regally seating himself, Darkness gazed impassively from his throne. Aradacraz stood as he was, eagerly awaiting his dismissal. He almost flattened his ears in disappointment when Darkness continued conversing.

“When the Jalf sees how foolish her defiant stand is, then she will be ready to join us. She would make a … formidable asset.”

“As ye say, Sire.” The fox muttered distractedly.

He continued his musings, as though Aradacraz had never spoken. “She’s powerful, and young. Her . . .natural talent isn’t the same as mine. But she could become quite powerful.”

“‘Tis so.”

“When she decides to serve me, I will train her to become just as strong. A powerful force under my command.”

“ … Aye?”

“And then,” he growled out, eyes flickering with fire. “Let it begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Santa-Anas are a warm wind that I grew up with. This poem is one I originally wrote and didn’t intend to put in this story immediately, hence why their isn’t an equivalent replacement.
> 
> Technically, Arath is not Earth, nor even in the same universe.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will start the second ‘Book’, or part, of this story.
> 
> So much editing is needed, blegh.
> 
> So yeah Darkness is evil for evil’s sake he just wants power and control blah blah blah. He doesn’t want his pawns escaping either.

Noon faded to it’s after hours, echoes of the Sun’s descent. Night drew closer, but wasn’t yet there. It was time.

Quietly, Ravaark slipped an old iron key into the cell lock, the subtle turn-and-click unlocking the prison door with the slightest rusty squeak. He nodded to the three occupants, his expression serious and bordering grim, before flickering his ears and turning back and forth to watch. They filed out one by one: Morgan behind Daniel behind Sirrius, to be led by Ravaark. The Vairrn wolf locked the door (although there was no need) and attached the key ring to his belt. He hefted a spear, of sorts, that he had picked up in case, and led the prisoners down the hall. They grabbed their weapons and secured them. They were ready.

Gilded tones reached through the perpetual gloom, dusting pelts of black, brown, and tan-gold. No one stopped them, and none were there to question. The halls were oddly quiet but. . . so far, so good.

Sirrius flexed her wrists impatiently, restraining her movement enough so that it wasn’t really noticeable. Ravaark had picked all their old paw-shackles, leaving them around their wrists loose, but not closed. They hoped the ruse would work, and they stayed alert for trouble. 

Sirrius’ gray-blue eyes darted back and forth, looking for any signs of concern. But the only guard they passed was an orange-furred wolfess, who ducked her head low and hurried forward in the opposite direction when they crossed paths. Either Straug had cautioned her to stay away from Ravaark, or Vaarz’s warning that they were ‘wanted by Darkness’ had.

Padded feet echoed softly as they walked, Daniel and Ravaark’s unretractable claws sounding with a subtle _Click-click-click-clack-click_ and so forth. Besides that, it was unnervingly silent.

After the infinite lefts and rights through torch-flickered halls, they came at last to the entrance hall. The door was just up ahead. Ravaark was about to hurry and open it, when a voice growled out, “Thought it would be easy?”

Darkness came out of the side hall, prowling. Aradacraz was there, too, leaning against a wall and sneering at them. He looked full of himself, and they realized that the fox captain must have gotten wind of their plan somehow. Daniel snarled and reached for his sword, letting his false shackles fall to the ground with a _Clang!_ He was stopped when Sirrius held out a paw. She glanced at him, conveying the message: _Let’s take this carefully._ He gave her a nod.

Sirrius’ voice matched her eyes: calm and unrelenting as stone. “Where’s the rest of yore forces?” she demanded.

Darkness spread his paws wide. His voice was scathing. “You think I cannot stop ye myself? Don’t flatter yerself, _Mer’Arren_. Foolish young ones and traitors are easy enough to deal with.” He sneered at them.

Captain Aradacraz grinned wolfishly, caressing the flat of his blade. His eyes gleamed maniacally as he asked, “May I deal with the traitor, master?” His eyes went to Ravaark.

The dark creature held out a paw in warning. “Later, you fool. I want the Jalf and her friends apprehended first. And don’t worry about _going easy_.”

Seeing they weren’t getting out of this without a fight, Sirrius reached a paw for her sword, which her friends took as a signal. Daniel and Aradacraz clashed with snarls and a ring of steel. Before Sirrius drew her blade, though, Darkness swooped forward and slashed. There was a _swoosh_ as his paw swung through empty air, claws snagging on nothing. The two Jalfs began a dance with slashing leads and dodges. Off to the side, the cyeetah and silver fox were growls and _chings!_ as they fought with venom.   


Ravaark grabbed Morgan’s paw and pulled her to the door. “We have to get this open!” he insisted. “They can handle themselves fer the moment!” she nodded, her face filled with worry, and tried to help him open the hefty doors.

All background noise faded to a dull backdrop as Sirrius focused on her fight with Darkness. It was as difficult and dangerous as facing an angry Kodiak - maybe even more so. There was no opening to pull her sword free, and some vague instinct told her that her claws couldn’t be fully relied upon. Her opponent was larger, stronger. She ducked under another heavy-swiped paw. 

Daniel was fighting with a blazing anger and Aradacraz with a hunger for some creature’s death. A parry sent tingles through their paws; a swipe cut low barely missing his leg. Blows were traded, sharp and clean, back and forth for what was felt as a long span of time. A snarl breaking through his muzzle and his brown eyes a-flame, the cyeetah began to find an edge in his anger. He growled a taunt at the silver fox, enticing him further. Aradacraz grew sloppier, as he let those taunts and snarls take his focus. He didn’t realize he was losing the fight until his ear was clipped, and even a few slashes after. His eyes widened in fear.

Daniel cleaved with a mighty slash to the fox captain’s left shoulder and across the chest, the crimson spilling over silver fur. Aradacraz fell with a screech, the left arm dangling useless with the depth of the cut.

Mere moments before Aradacraz’s defeat, Sirrius managed to tumble-and-roll out of the way of another hazardous slash. With only mere moments before Darkness turned, she whipped out her sword and tried to run him through. But she was driven by rage and little time, for she didn’t strike true. Darkness was fast enough to avoid major damage, but did receive a deep score across his back. Darkness swiped out before Sirrius could dodge, the movement send his dark blood scattering. She was flung away a good distance, her sword, thankfully, still in her grip, and a pain ripping through her side like all the world’s fire.

Both Aradacraz and Sirrius had been downed around the same time; as this happened, Ravaark along with Morgan had gotten the door open. The Vairrn wolf and she-fox shouted for their friends to run, their voices mute through the haze and commotion. Daniel helped Sirrius up, sheathing her sword, and running her to their friends, they all fled. Darkness’ angry roar for his Forces rang in their ears as they crossed the door’s threshold, hurrying them as they knew pursuit was soon to follow.

And so they ran, fleeing, through the snow.   
  
By some miracle, they had a head start.

* * *

Hushed thunder rang out through the snow-laden land as they planted for breath. It was not a world they recognized right away.

They had entered a sparse, silent forest. It was a sea of white, with petrified gray arms grasping for the sky. The land was blanketed with the mute white, though the current snowfall was very minimal.

They had been in the Ruins for months.

They had slowed down a bit, the soft fallen frost starting to stick to their fur and cloaks. Sirrius had an arm draped around Daniel’s shoulders. Her wound was still bleeding, leaving a carmine trail in its wake. But no sounds of pursuit had followed. Yet.

Ravaark glanced around, semi-frantically. Still panting, he asked. “Which way are we going? Anyone know?” Fear sparked in his eyes.

Morgan took a chance to rest, leaning against a tree. She glanced at Daniel, who was trying to help Sirrius. She didn’t look too good, bleeding out like that. The Jalf’s eyes were glazed and spacey, too. “Hope it’s not South,” the fox commented absentmindedly. “That’s back to Dark Forest. An’ I’m sure the Forces would chase us all our days to the shore.”

The Vairrn wolf fidgeted nervously. They had been running for a perceivably long time, and must have gotten pretty far. Surely they would have passed through Dark Forest by now? But before Ravaark could respond, a voice croaked, “North.”

Sirrius was having a hard time, sliding in and out of unconsciousness. Only bits and pieces were coming through visually (as her eyes were pretty much half-closed), and sound a dull thing. Though muffled, she heard the hushed words her friends were saying, and tried to tell them that they were going North. 

“North,” she said again, in almost a slur. “We’m goin’ North…”

Daniel glanced down at her. “Are you sure? Sirrius? Sirrius?” He shook her gently, but she only drooped slightly. He almost thought she had fallen unconscious, but she had a fairly good grip on him and was standing very slightly. He looked back up at his friends, worry etched on his features. He merely said, “We’re apparently goin’ Northward.”

Ravaark looked up at the mute sky, shielding his eyes with a paw to his forehead. “Dunno how she c’n tell,” he muttered. “Sky’s completely white. Or pale gray. Solsterr’s gone too.”

“Guys, we’d better get movin’,” Morgan cut in softly, gripping her recovered bow and holstering her arrow-quiver onto her back. In the distance they all heard the faint echo of thundering pawsteps. Darkness’ Forces. 

They hurried onward, in a similar fashion as their escape from the cell: Ravaark in the lead and making their path, Morgan just behind and checking on their friends, and Daniel half-dragging Sirrius. The vixen let them pass, notching an arrow to her bow and glancing back often. The snow began to fall heavier. 

The pawsteps began to sound closer, and closer with each moment, until a rugged voice howled out, “There they are! I see ‘em!”

Spurned on, they ran faster. When Morgan glanced back, she saw seven guards hunting them, and no doubt more further back.

The lead one - the coyote who had spotted them - was catching up with four others on his heels. Some shouted in excitement, knowing they would be well rewarded when the escapees were caught. Howls and yips sounded in a frenzy as they strained faster still.

She let an arrow fly. One of the creatures tumbled to the ground with a yelp.

She shouldered her bow and focused on keeping up with her friends; the guards were getting too close.

But just as the guards were close enough to reach out a paw, eager to grab, and just as _they_ were about to put out with more desperation, they felt the ground rumble.

Then they all heard it.

And the cliff gave way in crumbling white and falling bodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: the weather has changed appropriately I guess. It was like 80F during the day two days ago. It’s about 59F today. There’s snow on the mountains. It cold.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Book 2: The Darkening Skies**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing a side character I freaking love.
> 
> He absolutely gets referenced in the sequel.

It was fine, early winter day, he thought. At least, it _had_ been until _some_ creature had interrupted his wood-gathering with all that . . .that seismic quaking. 

So now he _had_ to go check it out, lest some creature be injured. Hopefully Red-tail would be fine on his own for a little longer. Impatient mimic-feather.

He made it to the rumble-sight (after a great deal of trudging through snow), surveying the damage. After a moment, and a glance upwards, he concluded that a great chunk of cliff, mostly snow, had fallen. Good. Some may still be alive.

He dug through the snow, first encountering a dark furred coyote. He seemed fine, except that when he was turned over, it was obvious that he had been killed by a crushed neck. He laid the body back down, then uncovered a red-furred vixen, her head awkwardly craned to one side. Dead.

It went on similarly: another dead, another dying and too late to be saved, and one who was grievously injured. But he recognized Darkness’ Forces and had no heart to save the last one. The symbol on their shirts were enough.

He did, however, find some other creatures not of the Forces, and very much alive.

A blackish creature, perhaps a wolf of some sort, not too far from a black-furred vixen. Both were unconscious but unharmed, for the most part. The same couldn’t be said for the Cyeetah he found, whose right leg was broken and senses gone from the world, but otherwise alive. Then a Jalf, also taken by the forced-sleep, with claw wounds shred through her side but her breathing even.

He was surprised to find her last, since she had been tangled in the mound of snow, a large patch of red marking her spot. He was even more surprised to find these four alive, but shrugged it off. Stranger things had happened, and he wasn’t the kind of creature to contemplate on these sorts of things.

He glanced mournfully at his little sled, which had a few meager branches and other interesting bits on it. Then he glanced back at the injured beasts with a sigh. After clearing off the wood, he placed them on it carefully and stacked like a bundle of branches, beginning the long walk home.

The snowfall, which had fallen back light, became heavy again, obscuring their tracks in the snow.

  
  



	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we’re outside of the scope of what is currently known Dark Forest territory; it’s technically on the fringes of the old drawn borders.
> 
> And no, Khol is not crazy or anything; he’s more eccentric/odd, but an overall good dude. The reason ‘off’ and ‘crazy’ are used is because they don’t have adequate words in their language/time period to describe him. It’s not meant to be a slur of any sort, and if it comes across that way please let me know as well as give me a better term to replace it with.
> 
> As a neurodivergent person I also want to state he does not have any specific mental health issue, cognitive difference, or disorder. It’s open to interpretation of course but I did not have anything specific in mind with him and I don’t want to spread harmful stereotypes.

Consciousness came gradually, like the stars twinkling into existence when night falls.

First came feeling; a numb awareness of one’s self and later, the sensation of warmth. Then sound, muffled and indistinct, filtered through. Vaguely, words took shape. When strength finally returned (and was noticed by feeling), then so did vision with a flicker of the eyes opening.

Gradually, shapes and colors appeared. There was a splash of red standing and - _laughing?_ \- a darker color hovering near it. Then the warmth was registered as a fire, flickering orange behind the red and darker one, the crackling sound only confirming this thought. A voice, too, registered dimly.

“Sirrius?”

She turned slightly, vision coming into sharper focus. She saw Daniel, concern evident on his face. All these senses rushing back seemed an infinity, when they were actually almost instantaneous. But memory took longer, and as bits and pieces came trickling back, they eventually caused a torrentous flood as she remembered. Everything up to their fall, at least, she recalled. But after … ?

Sirrius shot up suddenly, only to wince and grab her side in pain. She heard Daniel talking to her, but couldn’t process his words. After a few agonizing moments, she grit out, “I’m okay, I’ll be fine. I’ll be okay…”

She hadn’t even noticed she had fallen back to laying down.

A giggling voice cut Daniel of from speaking further.

“Heeheehee; O’ course, liddle Jalfy! Though there was ‘smuch blood as red on fur - a’leas’ mine. Be ‘appy yer not a-waitin’ fer Red-tail’s brothers!”

“Kraa! Krahka-ha!”

“Sorry - his darkbird cousins.”

Sirrius re-opened her eyes as the pain became manageable. She could feel Daniel watching her, and see Morgan and Ravaark in her peripheral vision, but the creature in her focus was a complete stranger.

Before her stood a strange thing; his fur was a rich red, and he had dark brown (basically black) markings on his ear tips, muzzle, and ringing around his eyes. He had a short tail, shorter than Morgan’s, and his hind paws were the darker brown color too. His paws were open in welcome, the unretractable claws making it a little less welcoming, and a great grin on his face. He wore a soft green shirt, and soft brown pants. He reminded Sirrius of a ‘Maned wolf’ that had passed through Dark Forest once, when she was cub, but the creature before her was obviously different. Strangely enough, a darkbird perched on his shoulder.

The creature’s green eyes gleamed as he introduced himself in an almost sing-song manner. “I’m Khol, the Dhole, who lives in a hole~.” He dropped the tone almost immediately as he gestured to his feathered friend. “An’ this is Red-tail. He’s a red-tailed hawk, y’see.”

Morgan tried to cover her laughter by putting a paw to her muzzle and turning her head. Sirrius just glanced skeptically at the two odd creatures. Red-tail was obviously a darkbird, a term regarding crows, ravens, and hybrids of the two. They were one of the few intelligent birds (along with hawks and other birds of prey), some learning the common language. The Jalf looked once more at Khol, seeing a strange glimmer in his eyes, and the twitch and twist of his smile, coming to one conclusion. They both must be some kind of crazy.

But she sensed no ill will from them. Actually, she started to take a liking to the strange “Dhole” and “Hawk”.   
  
“He saved us,” Daniel slurred, waving his paw sluggishly. His state was intense, and seeing a claw container near him, she figured he must have been given some sort of medicine. His leg was neatly splinted too. And touching her own side she felt it was sewn up and bandaged.

Khol watched her, and winked when she looked to him.

  
The evening progressed with chattering and laughter, after names exchanged and situations were explained. They told of their troubles and strifes in Dark Forest, Darkness’ new activity and their imprisonment. He explained (quite funnily) how he came across them, mournfully exclaiming the sacrifice of his wood-haul, and baubles, and how he brought them here, dragging them.   
  


“Amber in a round lump’n’ some old cacoons,” he mourned. “So’s now I haveta find some uther things.” He gestured to his walls; the main room they were in had things paw-carved of wood, bugs long dead pinned to a cloth hanging down, bits and pieces of shining stones and crystals hanging and twinkling dimly in the firelight. It was like the dhole had laid his very self among the room for all to see.

They watched him with wide eyes, barely believing there could be a creature as strange as he. Khol was either unaware that they found his strangeness quirky, or simply didn’t care. In the end, though, they found they liked him a lot.   
  
The sun had been long gone when they finally called it a night.

* * *

It was the next day, when snow fell too thick to leave Khol’s home, that they decided to stay inside. Khol told them that he would share a story.

With a cozy fire crackling away, Ravaark and Morgan gathered onto a worn, homemade rug of green, magenta, and no-longer white. Sirrius was just behind them, laying on bunched sheets, and Daniel lay on Khol’s own bed off to the side, the curtain pulled away. Khol sat on a warped stool (though it was easy to imagine him in some great, red armchair with how comfortably he sat), Red-tail ever present on his shoulder and the fire at his back, illuminating him on the edges but leaving him shadowed and silhouetted in the center. His eyes reflected the light eerily.

“What sort of story?” Daniel asked, after hearing the suggestion. He wasn’t as looped from the medicine, though he kept scratching at his splint.

Khol grinned, neat, sharp teeth gleaming in the semi-dark. “Why, a story of the snow-fur; she with stripes of dark lightning.”

“You mean Anastashia?” Morgan asked with great interest. “What’s it about? I know a few.”

Khol waved a paw dismissively. “Yes, yes. She called _‘Anastashia’._ ” He then looked at her, then the others in turn, intensely. “You Dark Foresters don’t know all the tales of the world, nor the great one. You focus on the big events, only seeing her as a hero. But there were smaller things, even more forgotten by time. But she was flesh and blood like us, making mistakes and grave choices. She lost and loved and learned and grew. There is so much more to her history that you don’t consider. And I would tell you those, but they are forgotten.”

Morgan said, “I’m willing to hear whatever stories you have, Sir Khol. I wish I _could_ know all her history - and our own.”

He looked at her, cocking his head and grinning. He leaned forwards and ruffled her ears. “Well then, ye’re a smart and won’erful young’un, ye are. I’m sure you’ll all like this one; a shorter tale of a smaller moment.” 

Morgan pricked her ears with interest, Ravaark awkwardly trying to get comfortable next to her. Sirrius and Daniel glanced at one another, sniggering at the two, but quickly quieting and paying attention when their host began to speak again.

“The story I have is old, but ‘tis one of Red-tail’s favourites; ‘Anastashia and the Bird of Death’.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time skips are coming up by the way!!!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All story-tellers have their own way of telling stories. Story-tellers and Historians are their thing and as respected as any other.
> 
> Basically this story isn’t translated properly in their own language, but the idea that’s conveyed is Anastashia isn’t perfect, that when you try to come to know one another that’s basically making friends, and that just because she can’t understand other creatures languages it doesn’t mean they don’t think or live.

Snow-fur had been a-travelling to the sparser forests of Airz, a time just afore _Kearth-agrav_ (of which you should know) was named.

Pines, firs, and other such familial conifers surrounded her with their flame-leafed cousins; a venerable forest as Ancient as Arath, raised by Solsterr. She stepped forward cautiously, for the trees only gave forth silence in exchange for the _crunch_ of leaves and twigs she presented. The quiet unnerved her.

Distracted, and unaware when she trod on an old, dead branch,a great rucus of _Caw-caw-craw-caw_ s _!_ along with the rushing sound of trees parting sent Anastashia sprawling on her rump in surprise. Startled, she watched as a great, dark cloud grew in size, then trickled out, until only blue sky and dark skies were left to see. _Darkbirds_ , she thought grimly. _The birds of death._

Still on the ground, panting after being exposed to fight-or-flight response, she jolted when she heard a voice begin to speak to her. It was harsh and spoke the common tongue oddly. Silver eyes flickered to a dark shape shuffling its wings.

“Wrell now,” it drawled. “ ‘Dis mighty creatchar ‘fraid of noise? Or ‘fraid her death be coming too sroon?”

A dark colored bird perched on a pine branch, and cocked its head quizzically when she looked at it. It was a larger medium size, and dusty black. It clacked its beak as it waited for a response.

Realizing that it had asked her a question, she abruptly stood up and began to dust herself off, stating, “No, death shall come when it does. I was merely startled and overcautious; this is a strange land to me, you see sir, um … are ye a crow or a raven? Er, or both?”

The darkened bird waved a wing, as though unconcerned by the matter. “Prob’ly bowth. Whro knows? Now: Name of ye?”

The silver eyed one tilted her head. “Anastashia. Supposed queen of Dark Forest, in the Southern vicinity of Airz.”

“Supp’sed?” He grumbled. Tilting his head, he clacked his beak.“How so supp’sed? An’ why ye nreed my name? Gonna kill me if’n I no’ trell yew?” 

“No,” she replied, more than a little surprised at the suggestion. “I would only kill an enemy - an only then if there’s no choice. Asides, ye’ve given me no reason to fight you.”

“You wanting thris bird as friend, then?” He asked, patting his feathered chest with a dark wing. “I am nrot yer enemy, srurely - but what if I nrot want ta be yer frien’?”

It was an odd conversation, to be sure. Anastashia had never spoken with a darkbird before, as the darkbird had never spoken with a hybrid. 

“Then what _would_ you be, if not friend nor enemy?”

“Why,” he began, as though it were the simplest thing. “Neither. Left ‘lone with nreither good nor bad ‘ntent.” 

She pondered this, and nodded once; his words made sense. There were many who preferred to live a neutral lifestyle. Being a friend, you were expected of certain things (not that you wouldn’t willingly do or give them), and a certain danger persisted if you were friends with someone who has an enemy. And as an enemy, conflict is bound to arise. 

“Well then,” she countered, “a name isn’t necessarily needed to make a friend or an enemy. It may even help me not ta call on ye as a friend - so what is yer name, Sir Darkbird?”

He clacked his beak and cackled. “ _Kra-ka-ah!_ Crafty she-beast! Ye’re a smart one, ye are, cat-thing. Fine, I trell ye; in yer werds, I am called Krahz-kaw.” 

“Krahz-kaw,” she repeated, trying to use the cawed ‘r’s of the darkbird. As far as she could tell, it was a jumbled mess of a word; last-song-winter-cries. But it was enough to be vaguely translated.

A sudden thought struck her. “Say, Krahz-kaw?”

Krahz-kaw had begun grooming under his wing, but looked up at her to show he was listening. His head was cocked sideways, interested by her tone, the wing still partially up and unfolded.

“How do you speak our language? And what other birds can? There must be others, but not all, surely?”

He folded his wing and laughed again. “No, Anastah’-beast, ye’re right. Only some, like my brothers, the darkbirds, Hawks, Eagles, and sruch. Sandpipers, int’resting’ly ‘nrough, but not Seagulls. Do not think yer world so small, Anastashia, that only beasts sruch as yerself c’n thrink an’ speak. Even prey that is hunted is living.” He said the last bit warningly.

She remembered, with a pang, Nu’ah’s claim that there was much to be found in the seemingly empty tundra of Ravaark. And there were the strangers he claimed to see. If something could live in that inhospitable wasteland, why couldn’t there be other intelligent creatures, like the hybrids? Like _herself_?

Satisfied that she was taking his words into serious consideration, Krahz-kaw decided to do her a service. A lone bird like himself should surely do another lone creature a service.

“Anastash’,” he cawed. She swiveled her black-tipped ears, head soon following. Silver eyes looked up through the criss-crossing branches as the darkbird spoke. “If ye’re insist’nt on North, thren go a liddle North-east, will ye? Dir’rectly up, or even Western-wise, there are mrany Kodiak and Tribe folks who mrayn’t take too kindly to ye, gots it?”

Her silver eyes lit up and she gave him an appreciative smile. “Thanks to ye, Krahz-kaw the darkbird. Many good flights.”

“An’ mrany good steps likewise.” 

So they split. Anastashia in the way he directed, and Krahz-kaw to where he may. A lesson learned to her, and unwittingly, to him.

For in this case, names did lead to a type of camaradeship, even if they never met again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something touched upon in the sequel is that people have a small worldview, really, and while Anastashia is known mostly around Dark Forest area, she’s not known much elsewhere. Just a thought to share.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh darn it editing these chapters I’m cringing a little. Because this story _is_ really cheesy, and I don’t have the energy to actually rewrite it, just edit what I have. But also, that’s an indication of growth, right? And sometimes you need a silly little story.

“Short ‘n’ simple, eh?” Khol sniggered. He seemed delighted with himself.

Morgan nodded, cerulean eyes gleaming happily. It was a story she was unfamiliar with; she hoped she remembered enough to share with Old Masonn. “Aye, thank ye. Nothin’ like the history of Anastashia.”

Ravaark looked a little lost, having come from a different background, and then under Darkness’ service. He’d heard of Anastashia, but his people had spoken more of Nu’ah. He crossed his eyes in confusion. “... Aye?”

The window shuddered suddenly, with the fierce wind outside. Khol had told them that a storm had started up sometime before they woke.

“There’s also some other tales,” Khol cut in excitedly. “There’s Snowfur and the Kodiak, The Southern Jungles, The Death of Nu’ah … ”

“Not to interrupt,” Sirrius said suddenly. “But when do ye think this storm’ll blow over?” Her voice was laced with impatience and irritation.

Khol snickered, not acknowledging her more hostile tone. “ _KeeHeeHee_ … ‘Course, o'course. It prob’ly will, when it does! _Hawhahah!_ … Now, what others was I listin’, Red-tail?”

Sirrius twitched her bushy tail irritably and growled under her breath. Raptly listening to Khol, Morgan and Ravaark (who was trying to follow for the vixen’s benefit) took no notice. Daniel noticed her demeanor, though, and leaned towards her, whispering, “What’s got ye so scruffled, eh?”

She tried to shoot a glare at him, but softened when she saw he was full of honest concern. She spoke in a louder, but still hushed voice, saying, “I’m worried about the others. What’s going on back home? Is Darkness overturning all of Dark Forest for us, or is he waiting out the bad weather? Is he going after our family and friends, trying to find us? Or are there search patrols going far and wide, soon to stumble upon us? I jus’... I Just feel bad sittin’ here, listenin’ to tales when everthin’ and everyone we know’s in danger.” For a moment she looked at him, so forlorn that her ears and whiskers drooped with worry.

Daniel opened his mouth to say something reassuring, but Khol suddenly cut in, surprising them.

“Aye, strong creatures like yew would be worried ‘bout yer home an’ people, but what can ye do in yer current condition?” He gestured a clawed paw to each one in turn. “A broken leg? Hypothermic dark furs? A gouged side? Ye need ta heal, get useful again. Especially when ye’re all lookin’ to fight.” He leaned forward with a sharp grin, eyes gleaming knowingly.

“But then, what should we do?” Morgan asked, unsure.

Khol made a noise like a cough and a laugh. “Do? What shudd ye do? Why, stay here!” He flung his paws wide, indicating his home (which was a halfway underground hut). Seeing the looks forming on their faces, he added hastily, “O’course when the weather clears I’ll send ol’ Red-tail here to gather some intel. Lemme tell you young’uns; war’s been brewin’ in Dark Forest fer a long time. Yer capture was just the beginning. Ye’ve started a sequence that can’t be stopped, and I know you want to start. Wait first, grow strong, then return with fire and thunder on yer side, Eh-hey!” He flung his paws out with a triumphant laugh.

“Well, he has a point,” Daniel stated.

“An’ we aren’t in any state to fight,” Ravaark pointed out.

“We’re not going to be completely useless; any information the hawk gathers can help us plan.” Morgan said

“Sirrius?” Daniel looked to the Jalf.

Realizing they were waiting for her word, she thought about what they said. After a moment, she gave a decisive nod. “Alright, we’ll wait. But, when the time comes,” her gray-blue eyes narrowed dangerously. “We fight back.”

Khol chuckled.

“Wouldn’t’ve guessed any diff’rent; I’m thinkin’ a storm’s rollin’ in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vairrn wolves live in tent-like structures or simple wooden shacks and talk more about Nu’ah because they’re more interested in his artistic skills and loyalty. Dark Forest focuses on both because of Anastashia’s leadership and their friendship.
> 
> There’s another person - her name is Maxius Arius (first I is silent in Maxius so it’s Maxus) - she was born about fifty years after Anastashia’s death, and became an avid researcher of her another twenty years later (when she was around 30-40). She’s from far away though and unknown in this region.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we get to a time skip.
> 
> Originally this chapter mentions a gear-run clock. I removed it for now because I’m still deciding what technology they actually do have. It’s definitely not anywhere near modern, because I like the idea of them just. In a wilder world with adventure as entertainment.

_A few weeks later…_

Laine watched as the last group of customers - those who were usually intoxicated - left, swaying and chortling as they (mostly) went out the door. He shook his head in disgust, muzzle curled in distaste. He understood why some drank, but to that point? It was stupid.

He glanced at the darkness outside.

“Ni’lai, time fer bed, mate.” Nicolai stopped swinging his legs and looked at his father. “But dad,” he whined. “I’m not even tired.” He pouted, dual-colored eyes wide and watering.

The concolor lifted his son off the barcounter. “It’s an hour afore midnight; ye should ‘ave been asleep long before. Now off ta bed with you,” he said, shooing his son up the stairs. Then he finished cleaning up.

Soon, all was quiet.

He sat down on a barstool, waiting in the silence for half an hour. He knew it was dark out, and the snowfall had been fairly heavy that day. He also knew Darkness’ Forces would rather not trouble themselves with this weather. Hopefully the others will make it without a problem.

The door _clack_ ing shut with a gust of chilly wind caused Laine to tense, but he gave a sigh of relief when he saw it was just the town’s oldest residents, Old Masonn and Mrs.Finsche. They both wore thick scarves - her’s dyed mauve and his pale green - while the blacksmith also sported a hat; Laine wasn’t familiar with the cut. The elderly fishing cat was hugging herself for warmth and muttering angry curses, but Old Masonn gave the Tavernkeeper a friendly nod.

“Good evening, Lai. First to arrive?”

Lai nodded. “Aye, Sir Masonn. The others should be comin’ shortly.”

They sat at one of the rounded tables and made themselves comfy. As time passed, others filed in like silent snowflakes: The gem-cutter, a fox-lion hybrid named Gearth Akem; A bobcat-lynx farmer, Chairm (Son of the late Vhen); Xev, the vixen baker with red fur; A butcher; a couple; traders, sellers, honest folk - and the list went on as all sorts of specific Townsfolk swelled into the dark room. There were maybe forty in all.   
  
Seeing that everyone was there, Laine stood up and began the meeting.

“Now that everyone’s here, I’d like to start off by sayin’ thanks to ye all fer comin’ here - ‘Specially ‘cos of the risks.”

“Think nothin’ of it, Laine; we’re all with ya!” Gearth Akem said, throwing a fist in the air with a chorus of “Yeahs!”

Chairm stood, a farm sickle in his paws like a menacing staff. “It’s been comin’ fer a long time, my friends. We’re all aware of what happened to the Jalf an’ her frien’s. Aye, an’ that they escaped Darkness’ clutches. So, my questions is - what should we do?”

A few voices began muttering amongst them, pitter-pattering like raindrops, but were immediately silenced when Lai rapped the barcounter with his paw.

“We’re all a fair bit concerned an’ relived equally, I’m sure. I didn’t call ye here to argue or admit defeat, though. We _all_ know Sirrius and her friends will return - She’s too strong willed, like they are, and they’d follow her to the bottom of Ravaark - but when they do return, they’ll be forced to fight. Fer we all know Darkness won’t let ‘em go easy.” His eyes swept across the room, daring them to challenge him. Most looked down, or looked back with a fire of agreement. Satisfied, he continued.

“Now, the best that _I_ c’n see it, we help the young ones when they return. Darkness doesn’t outnumber us as much as ‘e thinks - most his Forces are just that; Forced. They’d probably turn against him given the chance. I think we could win.”

A smallish bushdog raised a paw. “An’ if they don’t come back soon?”

Lai gave him an acknowledging nod. “I thought tha’ tis a possibility. I know that they will be back, but mayhaps it won’t be until after Darkness’ patience wears thin.” He sighed. “If that’s the case, then we’ll have ta take matters into our own paws.”

“An’ when’ll that be, Lai?” Xev asked a little skeptically.

He met her orange stare with strength. “If they're not back a week afore the Equinox, then we’ll attack then.”

Old Masonn raised a brow. “Wait through Winter for the Spring Equinox? That’s … not a bad plan, actually.”

“Thank ye!” The Tavernkeeper said, then continued on in excitement. “Think about it everyone! Darkness can’t do much durin’ the snow season - too cold, too dark, too hard! But when the Spring season begins, he’ll be searchin’ in earnest for them, full of anger and fire. Then it won’t be too long before he does somethin’ to us. Why should we wait for his wrath? He won’t be expectin’ blades from us - we’ll get him when he least expects it!”

It was a roar of sound, swelling around them.

Old Masonn spoke again when the clamoring voices died down. “I agree with Laine. I wish Sirrius safe return, for I _know_ she will return with her friends, but even I can’t know when. Maybe they’ll come through the snows, or mayhaps even waiting out the Winter. But we cannot wait too long; if they don’t return in time, then we fight on the Equinox!”

A rousing cheer echoed through the room. The Tavernkeeper and Blacksmith exchanged looks of respect amid the reverberation of fired spirits. Mrs.Finsche’s grumbling went unnoticed among the general noise; she was only there to impart wisdom, after all. No fighting would be for her. But overall, the plan was wholeheartedly accepted.

A few more matters were discussed during the course of the evening, then they broke off in the early hours and trudged through the snow towards their separate abodes. Old Masonn and Lai exchanged hearty goodbyes, but before he left, the blacksmith saw a dark shape flutter to the countertop like a forgotten scrap of cloth.

Red-tail had been hiding in the roof, on and amongst the network of roofbeams, listening in. Although he was intelligent and understood the common tongue (like his ancestors of old), he was not gifted with the ability of speech. He knew how to draw symbols and write words with his talons - at least in a way that Khol understood (the crafty Dhole understood some of his harsh, darkbird language too.) He tried to make mental note of all he could so that he had some valuable things to bring back and relate in “Hawkspeak”. But, why not tell them that Sirrius would be back? And by the Equinox, with this information. Making a haste decision, he fell to the countertop.

Lai noticed the ancient lion was gazing over his shoulder and wasn’t listening anymore. So he asked, “... What?”

He merely pointed a claw to someplace behind Lai, and the Tavernkeeper turned, almost starting when he saw the bird. Exchanging questioning glances, the two feline hybrids crept closer.

Red-tail cocked his head, then bobbed it courteously. They silently watched as he scratched a shallow shape into the wooden surface, lightly over and over.

Starting from a center point, it slowly spiraled clockwise and outward once, stopping and sloping gently downward under the original point. It was a symbol for a word in Scaiscript, the same as its more ancient counterpart.

“Surren?” Old Masonn questioned. There was a beat of silence as they thought this over, then simultaneously realized.

“Sirrius!” 

The two male beasts grabbed each other and spun around delightedly. They had a connection to Sirrius! Albeit, a darkbird who obviously couldn’t speak, but still. They both turned to the “hawk” suddenly, asking rushed questions. Red-tail was quickly fed up with the racket, and squawked loudly in irritation. It was meant to be a hawk-cry, but came out as a sharp crow-call.

“ _Kraah-ka!”_

They both clapped paws over their ears. Old Masonn smiled sheepishly and Laine mouthed _‘sorry’_. They removed their paws and Old Masonn motioned Red-tail, saying, “Please continue.”

With a sharp nod, he drew the Surren symbol again. Then he flapped his wings and proceeded to draw another symbol. It was a circle with little squiggles - the sun - and a slash going completely through it from the upper right corner and through the bottom left.

Scratching his chin, Lai muttered, “Surren, which is ta say, Sirrius, uh… fly? Go? Somethin’ like that anyhow. An’ what’s that? I think tis the symbol fer Spring. I think. But wot’s it all mean? Hmm…”

Old Masonn’s eyes lit up like a forge. “Sirrius, coming, Spring! He’s sayin’ he can get Sirrius an’ the others here fer the Equinox!”

Paws pressed onto the counter, Lai leaned towards Red-tail with a canary-eating grin. The bird had to take a fluttering step back.

“Get the message to her if ye can: We’ll be expectin’ her in time fer the Equinox! An’ thank ye. My thanks go to ye, darkbird!”

Red-tail gave an indignant caw, then flew away like a shadow, into the eaves.

Old Masonn gave a sigh, then turned to leave once more. “G’night Lai; I’ll be sure to get the word around. And I’ll be back by another time, too.”

He bid the ancient blacksmith goodbye. Paws on his hips, he stared into the dark ceiling, his hope blossoming.

“Until Spring, then, young warriors.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been having a migraine for five days but I want to get this finished soon uggghhhhh.

After a few day snowstorm, and a numerous amount more of resting, they finally sent Red-tail to Dark Forest.

It was an evening with the worst Northern chill, Sirrius recalled, and they had watched the hawk flutter about like a lost scrap amongst the flurries and breeze, until he was lost to the dark and haze like a lonesome shadow. They knew it would be a few days before his return. So they kept busy.

The following day, Morgan and Ravaark went with Khol to collect firewood, while Daniel and Sirrius stayed behind to rest. Khol didn’t want her to re-open her wound, and Daniel couldn’t walk at the moment anyway. The cyeetah had a splint fashioned on his leg with two, flat pieces of wood (like floorboards, he noted suspiciously) and a cloth fastening it tight. On the other hand, medicine of a sort had been applied to Sirrius’ gash, gauzy fabric wrapped around her middle. Taken care of for the moment, they were left to heal.

It was boring, to say the least. There was checkers, made of polished cherry and walnut wood, the pieces gleaming like little gems. That was fun for a little while. Then they discovered a hand-carved chess set of the same wood, with humorous pieces: The King was Khol himself, the queen a female dhole of sorts, Red-tail was the rooks with a striking pose (Sirrius rolled her eyes at it), A pair of mischievous foxes for the diagonals, slavering Kodiaks for the knights, and some sort of squat bobcats-like creature for the pawns. They played for quite a few hours (Daniel only lost a few more times than Sirrius) before they got bored again and waited for the others’ return.

(They may, also have indulged in some pretend-play with the pieces; it ended with their kingdoms drawing up a treaty, after the death of one of the queens.)

The evening progressed as usual. Warm fire, hot dinner, and cozy friendship. Sirrius eventually curled up to sleep, hoping her home was safe and that Red-tail would return soon and unscathed. She lay against Daniel’s bed, his paw hanging down and brushing her shoulder, Ravaark and Morgan curled up against her legs. But sleep was some time coming, as her side burned with a strange fire, and Darkness’ voice echoing in her ears, his evil stare following her as she finally succumbed to fitful sleep.

Her dreams were haunted that night. 

* * *

In the depths of the Ruins, Darkness perched on his throne like some great, murderous beast hunched over prey. His eyes burned and rage flashed through him at each fruitless report. After finding the bodies of his soldiers in a snowdrift, but the absence of the Jalf and her friends, several teams were dispatched to track them down. But the snow had been fierce this year, and any tracks had been erased. They had practically vanished.

Captain Aradacraz on his master’s right side, and Vaarz had been temporarily stationed on his right. Both were stiff as boards and attentive. After the latest messenger had barely (but thankfully) scrabbled away with his life, Darkness decided to speak to the tall Vairrn wolf.

“Keep in mind that your brother will not go … unpunished. As soon as they are all brought in, Ravaark will pay for abiding their escape.” He turned to look at Vaarz, not hiding the furious growl in his voice. Vaarz’s expression remained unchanged as he leaned in closer, his voice harsh and grating. “Tell me, what do you think of that?”

Vaarz was stoic, allowing false disdain to edge his voice. “Sire, ultimately whatever your decision is, I will follow yer orders. He was disloyal, and disobeyed yer orders. He was weak, and cowardly - a traitor. Now he must pay the price.”

The dark-furred Jalf laughed. “Ha! Very good, Vaarz. Very good. I knew it was a good idea to keep a few of those tribes alive. I expected higher of little Ravaark, though,” he mused, a strange distance in his eyes. Then he came back with words that enraged Aradacraz, although the fox didn’t show it. “You’ve always been very loyal, Vaarz. Keep up the good work, and maybe ye’ll be promoted one day. Chief Guard, perhaps?”

The Vairrn merely dipped his head respectfully. “That’s very gracious of ye, my Lord Darkness.” 

Darkness huffed, almost displeased. “Go about yer buissness now; ye’re no longer needed.” He waved his paw in dismissal.

With a salute of his spear, Vaarz left.

After the echo of the closing door died off, Darkness began to speak to his Captain.

“I have a feeling some other beast helped them.” His voice held neither anger nor any of his earlier emotions. It was sly, calculating. Cruel. “Have some creature follow and report on Vaarz. I find him … shifty. Make sure he’s _loyal._ ” His eyes narrowed, the dangerous purple glowing.

Aradacraz gave a half bow, flicking his silver tail. “Of course, my Lord.”

“I have a feeling they’re going to return,” Darkness mused aloud, as though Aradacraz weren’t there. “And they’re sure to try something _stupid_ when they do. That she-jalf doesn’t even know what she’s playing at. Aradacraz,” he directed back at his Captain. “When this Kearth-cursed snow is over, find out what you can from the townsfolk. Take your time, and don’t rush into it right away. I want names of any associated with the Jalfess and her friends, ideas of where they may be, anything of that sort.” He turned to him, eyes blazing like purple fire. “ _Any_ way ye can.”

He gulped. “Yes, Sire.” He bowed once more, then left to carry out his duties. When he left through the heavy door, he missed the dark figure sliding silkily away, an unnoticed shadow.

Darkness, now alone in the room, sighed to himself in contentment. When the Jalf returned, he wouldn’t let her escape again.

Which was easy enough, since he wasn’t going to let her live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darkness: I’ll keep her alive, she may be useful. We’re both the same species, after all.
> 
> Darkness: Scratch that they’re dead kill them all.
> 
> Also, something I didn’t emphasize enough in this story is that they are all fairly physically affectionate with one another. I’ve just personally been through a lot of trauma that makes me confused on how to express that.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vaarz I’m-secretly-not-a-jerk: You know what, screw this tyrant dude. Let’s wreck his stuff from the inside out.

Down in the halls of the Ruins, a wraith slipped amongst the shadows as though he were nothing more than a shadow himself. Eyes gleamed as he slid unnoticed past other soldiers of the Forces. He finally came into the dull gray of an empty barrack room. Well, almost empty. A she-wolf with ruddy fur and, when she tilted her head up, striking purple eyes was sitting on the bed. She glanced around slowly, stretching. Then whispered harshly, “ _Vaarz?_ ”

He melted out of the shadows, giving her a nod. She got up and hugged him, whispering fiercely, “ _You must be careful!_ Now, what have you found out?” She cast her eyes about, to be sure no one had followed or was watching. Barrack rooms had no doors.

He glanced around too, teeth clenched. He breathed out, “He’s been testin’ me; suspects I had somethin’ ta do wit’ their escape.” Without looking at her, he gave a gaping grin. “Not that there’s any proof, o’course.”

She growled at him, which he acknowledged with a flick of his ear. Kelte’aine wasn’t one to take things lightly.

She snapped, “What else?” so he continued.

“I listened in further. He doesn’t plan on lettin’ any of them live, I’m sure. He’s gonna send that carcass-huggin’ fleabag, ‘Craz to go after the townsfolk. Prob’ly harass ‘em to find those four. Dunno what they plan on findin’ out; my brother ain’t stupid. They’ll get as far away as to Arath’s heart if’n it keeps Dark Forest safe.” He shook his head pityingly. “I’ll tell you this, Kelte’: my brother’s in a world of trouble right now. And he an’ his friends _are_ stupid enough ta come back and fight, I can guarantee you.”

She placed a paw on his shoulder, and he leaned into the touch. “Vaarz. I know you feel bad ‘bout the Vairrn and Fearge gettin’ attacked - I do too - but ‘tis not our fault. Jus’ cause you and Ravaark are th’only Vairrn left doesn’t mean you can make choices for him. He will fight, leave, return - whatever he wishes despite yer attempts. Now, my question is, what do we do when they return?”

Vaarz looked at her, full of conviction and rage.

“Isn’t it obvious? Darkness has oppressed us too long; kept us as slaves to do his bidding. Many will agree with us. So what do we do?” His yellow eyes blazed, and Kelte’aine fought the urge to take a step back. This, right now, was the soldier, who lied to Darkness face.

“We’re gonna turn the tide and fight against Darkness when the time comes. Us an’ any like us will fight alongside them, or die.”

* * *

Eddies whipped him around harshly, swirling him and altering his course. He positioned his wings, at times drawn closer and at others stretched so far they hurt to hold. But he _had_ to make it back, or the blizzard would knock him back into the dark, and he wouldn’t find his way back to red-fur’s set. Maybe even freeze to death. The thought made him shudder.   
  
He reprimanded himself. He was a hawk, after all! Red-tail, the mighty hawk, flyer through blizzards and messenger of war. He nodded to himself. Yes, they would praise him long after the battle, as a wonderful raptor with skills and valor. Maybe they’d write a story of him, like the great Krahz-kaw and snowfur… 

He had been flying awhile, judging the distance and trying to find out the average time. They’d need to know if they wanted to make it in time. The ice weighed heavy on his wings though, and exhaustion weighed through him. The house was nowhere in sight. How would he find it? Didn’t hawks have excellent vision? Maybe it was this snow. (Or maybe it was the fact that he was a -)

There! A light gleaming in the dark, hard to find and hard to miss, if you were looking for it. He dipped down lower, like a streak of shrieking Winter wind, heading for Khol’s den. As he sped towards it, the snow whipping past him in a blur and stinging his face through his feathers, he let forth a rasping shriek that almost sounded like that of the hunting hawk.

Inside the den, Sirrius suddenly stood up, ears twitching. Her friends following suit. Khol, next to the blazing fire, stood up leisurely. He sent a smile at Sirrius, much more normal than she had ever seen. She nodded once, the edges of her muzzle twitching into a small smile. They all understood.

Red-tail had returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darkness is spot on that Vaarz is the traitor but he never gets anything done about it because for all intents and purposes, Vaarz appears loyal.
> 
> But of course Vaarz has been playing the long con for awhile; he always intended to get Kelt’aine and Ravaark away from there. He’s faced his own horrors as the elder brother; both of them saw their parents die, along with their tribes.
> 
> BTW yes Kelt and Vaarz are married, and both brothers absolutely drink their love their wife/girlfriend juice. Ravaark is hopelessly in love with Morgan (listen to Run by Daughter - the acoustic/demo version, for Ravaark x Morgan feels.)


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why the heck is this chapter so long????? Oh well.
> 
> Time skip of course. I know nothing about severe injuries or broken bones but I think it’s safe to say three+ months is long enough??

Spring came in the the usual way it did: crisp breezes from the melting snow, buds sprouting and spreading in their floral abundance, and pairs of birds twittering their newborn joy to the sky. The green crispness of the Spring Season pushed away the powdered white of the Winter Season.

Sirrius took in a deep breath, glad for the fresh air after the stuffy weeks in the dhole’s abode. She glanced at it. It was more visible now, without the snowdrifts to cover it. The hut looked like it was made for a terribly short creature, with a small den-door and actually only being exposed halfway above ground. The other half went below the soil, boards stopping suddenly as walls become hard-packed dirt, broadening out into the area they’d stayed in all winter. It was an odd house, she thought, housing an even odder creature. But that same creature _had_ helped her and her friends, she reflected. Without Khol, Darkness’ Forces would have found them long ago, or they would have froze to death, if the dark one’s soldiers miraculously missed them. It was only two days from Dark Forest, after all. And they were wounded; easy targets.

Thinking about that fall, she brushed a paw over her side. The fur edging and around the wound had grown back, covering it enough that it was out of sight. But the gouges would always be there, deep and smooth with scar tissue. Three longer ones, and a shorter one at the bottom. She could move freely without pain, and she wasn’t crippled in any way, but she would carry the scars for the rest of her life.

Sirrius twitched her strange-shaped black ears when she heard the short wooden door open, and the sound of someone scuffling out. She could imagine him crawling out, a displeased scowl on his muzzle. But she didn’t turn, not even when he stood next to her, and neither spoke as they stood there, the gentle breeze rippling their cloaks and the faint rosy after-dawn softening the color of their fur. Purple and brown fabric fluttered in the morning breeze.

“Are you ready?” His voice was hushed.

She glanced at him. Then at his leg. It was completely healed, and he walked so confidently that you couldn’t see the slight limp he had. Khol had worked with him for hours on end, coaching him until he got his stride back. She stared back out at the grassy stretch that, when it had been a field of snow, Khol had dragged them across that Winter. She simply replied, “Aye. You?”

He nodded. “Of course I am. So’s ‘Vaark and Mor. Y’know,” he said, looking at her. “We’re all behind you in this.”

It was silent another moment, before Sirrius spoke again, this time with a question, half-amused and half-afraid.

“When did I become _leader,_ exactly.”

He chuckled, and she turned to see his brown eyes alight with humor. “Honestly? Probably when Morgan and I met you as cubs, smacking into you during our snowball fight.” He shook his head at the memory, smiling. “You were so … _different_ from us. There was just something about you. We were all equals, but when the times came, you became a leader. And a good one, which is what we needed.” He stopped, then added with all the seriousness he could muster. “Plus, I totally won that snowball fight because of you.”

She socked him lightly on the shoulder, a mock scowl on her face as he laughed, “Hey!” This ensued in a bit of a scuffle, both of them huffing with laughter.

They enjoyed a moment of peace, after.

Sirrius then pulled out her sword, letting the light flicker on its surface. She recalled that moment, smiling at the memory. She had been traversing through the snow alone, three years short of a decade, playing games of grandeur and adventure by herself. Frisking around, she hadn’t notice Young Daniel running towards her, looking over his shoulder at Little Morgan (who was running on stubby legs), until he smacked into her, plowing the two of them to the floor in a flurry of snow. Morgan had ran up to them, worried when she found them dazed. But they had been fine - better, actually, as all three became best friends after a bit of heckling and snow-throwing. She brought herself back to the present, sheathing her sword as she reached a decision. Her first as (unspokenly official) leader.

“Soon as Morgan and Ravaark are ready, we’re heading out.” Sirrius lifted her gray-blue eyes, meeting Daniel’s brown ones. Her voice gave no room for argument as she stated, “We’re leaving for Dark Forest today.”

A grin made its way onto Daniel’s face. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

* * *

Time passed as they all got ready to leave, and by time the sky brightened with noon, they found themselves saying goodbye to Khol. He gave them a few packs with supplies, as well as directions, wishing them well. She and Daniel shared a look of surprise when they saw the chess pieces split between them, the board in her pack, but said nothing. If Khol was giving them that gift, then who were they to refuse? He certainly wouldn’t take it back. They asked him if he would accompany them back, but he declined.

“I ain’t old, but I ain’t young ‘nough fer battle either. Let the crazy young ones fight, I say! Hahawhawhaw!” he laughed, throwing his head back like a wolf howling. He had many different laughs, but this one was new to them, reminding them of creatures they’d been told about that lived far south-east in Romn, called ‘Hyenas’.

When his laughing fit was over, he said, “Now, ye should all get home ‘round the day after tomarrer’s evenin’, as long as ye make good time, that ‘tis. No distractions. Got it? That’ll be the night afore the good ol’ Spring Season Equinox. Now, don’t be late or you’ll miss the party, _Heeheeheehee…_ ” Khol sniggered.

Red-tail added a few caws for good measure.

“Of course, Sir Khol. Thank ye fer all your help. You too, Red-tail. Ye’re a swift Hawk, ye are,” Daniel said, adding the last part graciously.

Khol gave a nod, scratching the bird’s throat feathers, and Red-tail swelled his chest with pleased pride. The bird was happier hearing it from Daniel than any song of praise.

They turned to leave, but paused a moment when the dhole suddenly yelled out, “Farewell young warriors! May all go well with you, Sirrius The Moonblade, Daniel Sunshard, Morgan Blueshaft, and Ravaark The Vairrn! Descendents of old, may ye have Snowfur’s strength!”

They all turned, waving one last time to the strange dhole and darkbird, starting on the trail towards home. The words of some old song rang out behind them, Khol’s voice melodious. Morgan tried to remember the words as Khol sang them away.

“Snowfur, darkstripe,

Strong and fast and fierce! 

Anastashia with her ice-claws

And a spear as sharp that pierced!

With regal Nu’ah by her side,

face evil they could not abide

fangs a-gleamin’ when the good at stake 

the bad, the cruel, they fought ‘n’ chased!

But death not all were to see

nor followed by the deathbird flock,

for wise and kind was she

and life she wouldn’t ever mock!

Snowy pelted, nighttime stripped,

She list’s to Nu’ah’s good advice!

Long endeavours, not quick to fall 

The great, far lands; she named them all!

Snowfur, she strut out proud,

with Nu’ah as the South-winds howled… ”

* * *

  
They were trekking over grassy plain, where tiny flowers of yellows, blues, and whites dotted amongst the green. They were nearing the edge of the first forest, which they were to travel to until they came upon another open swath. The cliff they had fallen off of would be a few hours’ walk, then they would officially be in Dark Forest again. Khol promised that there would be an area sloped near where they had fallen so that they wouldn’t have to climb the cliff. That helped their worries alot.

They also had great appreciation for Khol; travelling so far and bringing them home, instead of the much-needed wood. He had decided to go towards Dark Forest before going further North, which had been luck on their part. For although wood was found more easily Northward near Khol’s home, he had decided to go the other way, and had found them. Coincidence was a wonderful thing.

At the third hour past noon, they took a water break, sitting on the grass under a gentle Spring sun. They decided it would be good to eat a little something, too, and split two big, green apples. 

They were ripe, but still tart, and all the while delicious. It was accompanied by some fish jerky of sorts.

It was quiet and calm where they sat. The forest proved farther then they had thought, but they weren’t unduly worried. Any trouble they may encounter wouldn’t set them back too much.

Finished, they set out again, and finally broke through the dark edging of the trees almost three hours later. They all kept alert, instinct and gut feeling telling them not to let their guard down. There was something unnerving about the forest, and for creatures who primarily lived in one, that wasn’t good. Only Ravaark, who almost never left The Ruins until recently, remained oblivious, jauntily humming to Khol’s “Snowfur” song.

Daniel gave a low growl. He immediately softened his tone when he saw the wolf jump. “Sorry, ‘Vaark, but I think you need to shut up. We dunno what’s in here, an’ unnecessary noisecould attract somethin’ dangerous.”

Sirrius snorted softly. “Like yer temper?” His growl had been loud enough, itself.

Meanwhile, Morgan shot the Cyeetah a glare, which he rolled his eyes at. Ravaark promptly quieted, smiling sheepishly. Sirrius huffed, watching them. She knew Daniel had a brotherly protection for Morgan, even before she had turned their duo to a trio, but he didn’t have to be _that_ sharp with Ravaark. Fuzz head.

Something creaked in the stillness, and all four suddenly froze. There was a vibe in the air; something animalistic and dangerous. A smell, too, that Sirrius wasn’t familiar with. She snapped her head towards another _crick!_ and saw a pair of black eyes twinkle from the shadows.

_By the Suns of -_ “Get back!” She shouted.

A roar broke through the silence, trembling the very air. A large shape bound out, impossibly fast for its size. Shaggy brown fur hung on its towering frame as it stood almost taller than them on _four_ paws, each ending in bladed claws, long and sharp as any dagger. Black eyes shone dangerously, and the lips on its muzzle pulled back to reveal a mouthful of nightmarish teeth, ready to snap through bones. It was a Kodiak, one of the most feared beasts.

It snuffled angrily, eyeing them with what appeared to be anger. They were on its territory. The four friends stayed still, Sirrius and Daniel with their blades drawn. Not that it would do much good - if they engaged it in battle, at least one of them would die before the Kodiak.

“ _Back away slowly_ ” Daniel whispered.

They all did as he said, and at first it worked; the Kodiak just stopped and watched them. But then something crackled, and Sirrius vaguely wondered who stepped on what.

It roared and bounded towards Sirrius, earth and air shaking before it; it reared on its hind legs, taller than she’d ever imagined, even taller than Darkness. It slammed its bulky body down, paws spraying dirt, and Sirrius had to throw herself to the side, lest she be slain. She slowly rolled to a stop and Daniel hastily pulled her up, and helped her grab her sword. She saw Morgan and Ravaark in her peripheral, running, and hoped they got away safely.

Sirrius tugged Daniel down as it swiped at them, barely avoiding its deadly claws. Thinking quickly, she saw an opening and took it, slashing her blade point across its muzzle, then dragged the Cyeetah away, running after their friends. Thunderous echoes of the beast’s wailing pain and fury followed them, louder then the vegetation they crashed through in their escape. Sirrius had left a deep score in its nose, and she didn’t to lose her own in return.

They did finally catch up with Morgan and Ravaark, collapsed on the forest floor and too tired to speak. The image of the beast, with its terrifying face, small rounded ears, and brutally thick-furred neck would echo in their memories for a long time after. At least no one had died.

They took a brief, frightened rest, but the forest was quiet enough that they eventually tried to get their bearings and to move on.

Wary as well as weary, they soon stopped, and made a small fire, constantly looking over their shoulders and pricking their ears. They cooked from their bruised supplies. The fish jerky was a little mangled, the fruit a bit bruised, and the dried poultry … well, smashed, but it was all still edible. And they were all alive to eat it. They made some dinner and ate.

Ravaark eventually broke the shocked silence. “So, er, we’re gonna be a little late, aren’t we?”

Sirrius nodded. “I don’t think we’re too far off course; we’ll just have to reposition ourselves in the morning.” She glanced at a conifer with many branches. “Morgan could climb a tree and tell us where the Sun’s risin’ from. That’ll be East.”

Morgan (who was munching on the dried fish) gave a silent salute, two claws from the brow and waved outwards.

That settled, Daniel added, “I don’ think we’re that far either. An’ if’n worse comes ta worst, we’ll be there fer the big shebang right on the Equinox. No matter what, were gonna press ta get there anyways.”

“True,” Ravaark agreed. “Well, g’night I guess.” He then promptly yawned, curling up to sleep. The others followed suit, settling down as the liked. 

They were unable to drift off, though, when he mumbled, “This is one of those weeks, isn’t it?” 

They then responded like any other creature prevented from sleeping, and answered promptly and firmly.

They grabbed debris from the forest floor and hurled it at him. 

“Hey! Ow - Seriously, stop! _There was a rock in there!_ Ye-ow!”

“What do _ye_ think?!”

Ravaark grumbled as they settled back down, and eventually they all fell fast asleep. They all drifted into the dark faraway, senses strained even in sleep for danger, and dreams full of hopeful thoughts. They all hoped they would make it back in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah Kodiak is basically a grizzly bear. Bears are not sentient, and are the chosen (mammal) predator to avoid, as all wild cat and wild dog (and consequently hybrid) species are sentient.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost to the end :)
> 
> Then I can focus on other projects.
> 
> Honestly, and sincerely, though, I hope you guys have been enjoying!!!

On a morning, the second day after the Kodiak skirmish, when the four friends began making their way out of the forest, Lai went to visit Old Masonn back in Dark Forest. It was the day of the Equinox.

  
Lai caught up with Old Masonn as he was leaving his shop. Hearing someone hail him, the Blacksmith turned to see his Tavernkeeper friend trotting over to him. Foregoing any other greeting, Lai asked breathlessly, “Have ye sensed it?”

  
Masonn nodded. “Aye. Somethin’ changin’ in the air.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “The likelihood that Darkness knows our plans is low, but maybe he has his own plans fer today, eh?”

  
They had all been careful throughout the winter season; those who were trusted were told indirectly. Those ill or with family or who couldn’t fight were staying close to one another, ready to leave town together when the battle went down. And while the Forces were still prowling about, their freedom hadn’t been restricted further. So it would seem nothing was suspect. Hopefully.

  
“Mayhaps,” the Concolor agreed. Another matter on his mind, he added, “Sirrius and her friends aren’t back yet?” He knew that if they were, Old Masonn would have them in hiding.

  
Masonn shook his head. “No; but don’t worry. Those young ones will be back. Mayhaps even today.” He stopped a moment, his gaze far away. “I have a strange feeling ‘bout today.”

  
Lai’s shoulders drooped. He had hoped that those three trouble makers would be back by now. But it would seem that their plans would have to continue without them. It didn’t rely on them; they were young ones, after all. But he knew they were capable warriors who would want to be there to defend their home.

  
“Raven’s wing, then?” Laine asked. _After dark?_

  
Old Masonn grinned. “Crow’s down, it’ll be. Lest the bird roost early.” _Aye; soon as it’s dark. Unless something changes._

(They may not have needed code, but the silliness of it was helpful.)

  
With a cordial wave, Laine departed, and Old Masonn went about his buissness. Every few days he went around town and interacted with the townsfolk; it was a normal affair for him. But today was different.

  
Although it wasn’t that cold, Old Masonn threw on a dark, gray-brown cloak to affront the chill, for one reason; it was thick and heavy, made even heavier by the dirks, daggers, and other small weapons he had, obscured in hidden pockets and folds. He strolled aimlessly through town, from booth to stall and store, careful of the Force’s watchful eyes. He laughed heartily with burly males, exchanged playful words and advice with females, delighted the few children he came across. He haggled with Missus Finsche (who bopped him on the head when he disagreed with her prices). He bought some sort of fruit-cheese melt sandwiches from a short bobcat-caracal named Temth, and shared lunch with the vixen baker, Xev. They laughed and joked, and he was faintly surprised when she mentioned her worry for Missus Finsche.

  
“Aye, she’s like an ol’ aunt ta me; known her since I was a cub.”

  
“Why an aunt an not a mother?”

  
“A mother would be gentler, no?”

  
A glance across the street showed them a running ocelot-sand cat clutching his head, and the old fishing cat yelling profanities after him, swinging her stick.

  
“Ye’re right there.”

  
Finishing his lunch, he bid her goodbye as he headed to the outreaches, leaving her a skinning knife tucked under her arm. Any who were in on the later fight, he slipped a small weapon discretely to them. And not one guard caught him, so flawlessly did he follow his normal routine.

  
Eventually came Chairm’s farm. It was a little further out than the main town, and it’s farmer was oft so busy with his work that the Forces didn’t tend to follow too much out there. The bobcat-lynx was leaning on his trusty scythe, admiring the new sprouts of his crops. Seeing Old Masonn, he gave a polite nod.

“Gudday, ancient one. How goes yer sunspan?”

  
“Quite well,” he replied with a wink. He glanced up at the blue, blue sky, careful to avoid Solsterr’s treacherous glare. He didn’t want those dark spot-burn-things in his vision. “Had some good conv’sations t’day. How ‘bout you? Yer crops growin’ well?” He gazed at the expanse of new green.

  
He snorted. “‘Course they are; they’ll be good, ready to harvest at their appointed time. All that snow? ‘Twas good for my crops. But no rain yet? I’m fair serprised - we never git that much snow, so I was hopin’ we’d get more rain too.”

  
Old Masonn laughed suddenly. “Rain? You mean that th’ son of Vhen doesn’t feel the storm coming? Look.” The lion hybrid pointed a claw North-East. There was a dark line, barely visible. “That area where the horizon looks double thick? We ‘ave until this very evenin’ before it hits, no later. The clouds’ll roll in an’ release their turmoil tonight. Good, eh?”

  
“Well then,” Chairm said in surprise.”That’s quite unfortunate fer some creatures, an’ fortunate fer others, ain’t it? Who knew the Equinox would come with a good Spring shower.” The farmer’s murky green eyes were wide with humor. His whiskers twitched as well.

  
“Aye!” The Blacksmith replied with a grin that was all fangs. “I hope ye’re prepared, ‘cause I sure am.” He pointed over his shoulder at the back of his cloak. His old battle axe was there, cleaned and prepared for battle. It was almost unnoticeable beneath the cloak, except that it made his shoulders appear slightly broader.

  
Chairm obviously knew what he meant, because he exclaimed, “Sir Masonn! Really! Wouldn’t it be wiser to let the younger creatures deal with this? You know what kind of damage a ‘storm’ c’n cause.”

  
“I do,” he admitted. “But ‘tis my home too. Many lives too young are being risked tonight. It’s better I go, than some foolish child. An’ anyways, I ain’t that old yet.” He flexed a paw, and his long claws showed.

Eyes burning with determination, he gave the farmer a nod and took his leave. “See you tonight, Chairm. May we see one another after.”

Chairm dipped his head in return; he wondered, briefly, hat his father who was long past would have thought.

“Aye - may that be.”

* * *

  
Captain Aradacraz strode through the town Dark Forest as the sun was close to meeting the horizon, a sizeable group of soldiers behind him. He felt good, a spring in his step; Darkness had finally become fed up with waiting, and gave him the order to apprehend a few of the townsfolk and do as he wished to them. It would send the message that Darkness was still in charge - even if a few prisoners had managed to escape. Aradacraz had almost danced in delight; he could get revenge on that stupid Blacksmith! Oh, how wondrous it would be, to torture that old lion until he was little more than some useless carcass! He deserved respect, and that relic had refused it - no! Had spat in his very face. Now the old fool must pay the price for defying a Captain.

  
He found the large hybrid in front of the smithery, talking to some pretty red vixen. She had her arms crossed and some irritated expression on her face. She appeared to be snarling, almost, sharp dogteeth gleaming.  
Ignoring their conversation, he strode towards Old Masonn purposefully, tapping him with a claw on the back (he wasn’t quite tall enough to clasp the blacksmith’s shoulder). When he had turned, Aradacraz puffed out his chest and declared with authority, “You are under arrest fer disobeyin’ the Captain of Darkness’ Forces an’ associatin’ with rebels. You,” he glanced at Xev, “and the vixen here, shall come with me.”

  
Old Masonn mirrored her earlier crossed arms as she moved her paws to her hips. “I think not.”

  
For a moment, he was taken aback. “What?!” Aradacraz spat. No one, no one, ever went against Darkness or those under his command.

  
“Uh … Captain ‘Craz, sir?” One of the guards accompanying him said, uneasily. He noticed the creature glance to and fro, so he looked.

  
Too late, that he hadn’t seen the creatures of Dark Forest closing in, glowering at them and, more specifically, him. Some growled and others snarled. Xev took a step forward, twirling the skinning knife professionally, as Old Masonn grabbed the double-headed battle axe from his back, letting the cloak fall. It pooled at his hindpaws like a death sentence.

  
“You can either run,” Xev growled, yellow eyes burning. “Or you can fight us.”

  
Angered, Aradacraz thrust his sword at her. “We can take this lot of cowards! Kill them!”

  
Old Masonn smacked the fox away with the flat of his axe, roaring, “ _For Dark Forest!_ ”

  
The cry was taken up as the two sides clashed, signalling the start of the battle.

  
And the sky had become dark as the clouds rolled in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missus Finsche can and will kill you, for barely a reason.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haha I used to listen to Who We Are as well as I think City while writing the original version of this.

Upon entering the familiar woods, they veered somewhat South-East, looping around the Ruins. When they had first escaped they had gone north; They must have gotten turned around after the Kodiak, for the Ruins faced South _towards_ Dark Forest.   
  
Basically, they looped around on their reentrance.

Not that it mattered. Sirrius had a bad feeling, and when she glanced at Daniel, she saw that he felt the same. Something was up.

A loud percussion of thunder sounded, lightning blaring up instantly. They saw clouds as they raced the three friends, eventually passing them. But as of yet, no rain had fallen. More thunder roared and another jagged burst soon followed. Morgan jumped, her tail bushing more than normal. She leaned in closer to Ravaark, who looked quite uncomfortable. They clasped paws, running together.

This storm, more Summer than Spring, all made them feel nervous.

Daniel was about to comment on the two who were holding paws, but decided against it as Sirrius motioned them all together. They heard voices filter through the forest as they crouched low among some bushes, and saw shapes hurtle past. They caught what one shouted.

“... -his way! Hurry! Aradacraz needs reinforcements against those townsfolk … !”

When the Forces had gone, Sirrius and the others stood up, strangely breathless.   
  
Remembering to keep her voice low, she said harshly, “You hear that? The others are fightin’! We’ve got to go!”

“Lead on,” Daniel whispered back.

They hurried through the trees, turning more towards Dark Forest as they went. Finally making it (they realized as the dim shadow of a building came into view), they paused behind one of the shops and planned their next move.

“So … are we just gonna jump in?” Morgan asked awkwardly, despite the situation. “ ‘Cause, I’m not sure what we’re supposed ta be doing. We’re a little late to th’ battle here.”

Ears pricked, she could hear the fight waging on the other side. They all could. She got a bit of an idea, suddenly. Keeping an ear swivelled towards the sounds of battle, Sirrius said, “There’s prob’ly fightin’ all over Dark Forest - not just here. I think we should take a look. If there’s someone who needs help, or there’s a creature you think ye can take, go for it. Got it?” She turned her gaze to the other three, eyes strangely bright.

They nodded. “Got it.”

They drew their weapons silently and crept to the edge of the building. Peeking, four pairs of eyes (Moon-dust blue, earthen brown, cerulean, and bright purple) surveyed the scene.

There was chaos, and some fought with weapons; hacking, slashing, and thrusting. Blood splattered the ground along with shorn fur, painting it red as creatures fought to the death. Some clawed and bit, rolling on the ground and tearing through fur, then flesh. Torches blazed, some running wild as they caught on stands and other structures of wood. The scene was barbaric and horrifying, lit with the blaze and darkened from the sky. It was horrific; But the four friends steeled themselves to help the townsfolk. With nods to one another, they charged.

“ _Graaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh…..!!!!!!_ ” Ravaark yelled maniacally, colliding with a surprised panther.

“ _Dark Forest!!!_ ” Morgan jumping in to fight side by side with the familiar burly figure of Gearth Akem, both flashing daggers in the fierce firelight and shouting dangerously.

“ _Moonblaaaaade_ _!!!_ ”

“ _Sunshaaaaaaarrrd!!!_ ”

Jalf and Cyeetah fought together, making their way to Old Masonn. The old hybrid was battling with Aradacraz while defending Xev, who was curled on the floor and trying to staunch a stomach wound.

Any who came in contact with Sirrius and Daniel eventually ran, some with and some without serious wounds. Eyes of cold stone and eyes of fire warned any that these were vicious warriors; their lips were drawn back in snarls, fangs dangerously displayed in the blazing light. Many would never forget the ashen blade as it loomed towards them, or the golden one that almost ran them through, both beautifully crafted but deadly as intended. Like the lightning that flashed above them, the two creatures moved through the crowd swiftly and erratically. The edges of their cloaks were ragged, and rips appeared on the side, but it was nothing like the marks that were slewn through their enemies’ flesh. Yes, when any opposing creature met those two that were covered in ash and dirt, spattered with blood and grime, they found it was better to run.

Even if their intent was to injure and frighten, rather than kill - it’s not like their enemies knew that.

Finally cutting their way to their target, Daniel shouted, “You help them! Aradacraz is _mine!_ ” without waiting for response, the cyeetah shot forward and shoved the fox away from Old Masonn. Daniel and Aradacraz shared words, although Sirrius didn’t hear them as she went to help their friends. It was better she didn’t interfere, anyway; Daniel had had a strange possessive light in his eyes, like a hunter over their prey.

Old Masonn was helping Xev, leaning down and applying weight to her wound. His battle axe lay on the ground, forgotten. He sounded weary as he said, “Fret not, miss Xev - I’ll git ye some help in a minute. Let’s jus’ get it to stop bleedin’ first, eh?”

“How can I help?” Sirrius asked, dropping down next to him, her sword lowered but at the ready.

“Sirrius!” He shouted, astonished. She saw him look sideways at her, muzzle agape, then he turned back to focus on Xev. She saw he was smiling, though it was tight. “I knew ye’d be here in time. But I don’t know if you three c’n help change the tide of this battle.” His eyes darkened, amber to something more solid.

“Why not?” She asked, after threatening some creature away with her sword and a menacing growl.

He looked at her sadly. “Because Darkness must be defeated if we are to win this battle; but I don’t know where he is or who can beat him. He _must_ die; it is the only way we - and others - can be free of his evil. How many families torn apart, young ones pressed into his service, and countless lives have been killed because of him? He had slaughtered long before claiming our home. He is worse than Kearth, the Kodiak, or any other or our ancestress’ enemies.”

Sirrius briefly thought back to those she had just fought; not a single one had been slain by her paws. But she thought, no, she _knew_ that she could fight him and was one of the only ones likely to win. She had the anger, for it. And, she realized, she knew where he was. He was a coward, but a cunning tactician. Hiding as he waited for reports. She stood as another round of thunder rumbled out, gripping the handle of her sword tightly, and looking at the blade.

“Sirrius?” He asked, almost softly. He knew, because she was brave and foolhardy. Because he, if not so old, would be doing the same.

Light danced upon the dark metal, then disappeared as the clouds ran out of lightning. “Old Masonn,” she asked suddenly, ridiculously among the mindless sounds of battle. “What does my name mean? To you?”

“What are you… ?”

“Tell me. _Please._ ”

He sighed, feeling so old in that moment. “Sirrius means ‘chaos coming together’, in the old tongue. Like the storm above us,” he glanced up as lightning ran again. “To me, you are the cool light of the moon, a watcher, a guardian. You are what pulls the tides on the shore, pulling people together.”

She smiled softly, as she continued to gaze down at her Moonblade. “Thank you. Remember me, ancient one.” Suddenly, she took off, sprinting down the road-path, ducking and jabbing as she made her way to the battle that waited.

“Wher’ she’m goin’?” Xev asked groggily.

Old Masonn could only respond in a shocked mumble, face drawn down with sad acceptance.

“Off to fight Darkness.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, _real_ excited for the next chapter. Daniel versus Aradacraz. It was fun to write.
> 
> Also yes Sirrius is the cheesy protag off to fight the big bad alone.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly Daniel versus Aradacraz was so satisfying to write. I hate Aradacraz. I know he’s my own OC but I hate him so much. He’s a jerk.
> 
> Also yes, Ravaark got his hands on a spear.
> 
> Cheesy cheesy fight next chapter lololol.

Aradacraz snarled as Daniel blocked another downward slash. Daniel merely narrowed his eyes, which burned with hatred. The broke apart, then attacked again.

Aradacraz wasn’t sure where the Cyeetah’s hatred came from, but he knew that his own came from hating the Jalf, and this was the Jalf’s friend. 

The jarring sensation of their swords meeting brought the fox out of his thoughts. Daniel snarled, sliding his blade harshly on the other in a shower of sparks. Dimly, he felt heat burn through his cloak to his back, and he realized that a fire had broken out, its flames licking at his cloak. But he didn’t care. Heedless of the danger he kept near the blaze, drawing the fox towards him.

Darting with his worn sword to the Cyeetah’s hindpaw, Daniel countered and swept the sword from the ground up, slashing swiftly, and leaving a red seam on the fox’s collar bone. Another quick slash left a tear through the cloak, and another left a patch of skin devoid of silver fur.

Back and forth they went, Daniel not only dodging and blocking against Aradacraz, but also wounding him.

Here, a score across his muzzle. There, he barely clipped the hybrid’s whiskers. Somehow one of his claws got caught and ripped out. It slicked his grip, as he bled.

The silver fox became afraid. This creature was as fierce and strong as the Jalf; with a different ferociousness that chilled him to the bone all the same. But as she became cold like stone and just as dark, her mate was a bright fire built of rage. He stood there, silhouetted by the roaring blaze, the flames nowhere near as bright as the fire burning in his eyes. Aradacraz’s paw loosened on his sword as he took a stumbling step back, Daniel’s words ringing in his head, the eyes burning into his mind, and as the golden blade was thrust through him, until its length protruded through his back. 

“ _This is yer reward, you murdering son of yer mother!”_

They stood there, the silhouettes of a beast ran through, and the other a warrior with a slain enemy.

Putting his paw on the shoulder, Daniel pulled his sword out while simultaneously pushing the body off. The silver corpse, orangey in the firelight, hit the ground with a dull thud. He flicked his wrist, scattering drops of red off of his blade. He stood tall, lit and shadowed by the wayward fire, and the Forces ran at the sight of him, covered in ash and blood, and from the body of the one they once feared, lying discarded on the ground like a disgusting thing.

Taking a deep breath to hold back the tears, he walked away from the scene, intent on helping others. He only hoped his friends lived through this ordeal, and that they finished their own goals. 

And he also hoped that they wouldn’t be haunted at night by the same things he knew he would be haunted by. That they wouldn’t have to take a life, no matter how evil.

For he would always remember when the light of life left the creature’s eyes, and he would always see the body he had abandoned and left to burn.

* * *

Morgan and Gearth Akem split up after awhile; the burly fox-lion taking off after some sort of tiger hybrid, who ran from the golden-red warrior like a rabbit from a fox. To be fair, Gearth was laughing like a wild thing and his dagger was red with blood.

She found herself alone, dagger flashing out to either injure or disarm any creature who came near her.

Unexpectedly, the vixen hybrid bumped into someone, causing both to whirl around with the intent to attack. Cerulean eyes met soft purple, and they both relaxed.

“ ‘Vaark?”

All tension almost left Ravaark. “Mor,” he sighed wistfully.”Good to see you. I thought you were th’ panther at first.”

She laughed. “Well obviously I’m not.”

He grinned, glancing at her for a moment, then eyes flickering back to the chaos around them. “Well, _yeah._ But y’ know how it tis: You focus on one, then another - _Duck!_ ”

She dropped fluidly as he jabbed a creature with the butt of his spear, stunning him. He gave another whack to knock him out, then continued nonchalantly, “ - pops up ‘til ye don’t know who’s who. Hey, you wanna fight t’gether?”

Morgan’s eyes lit up. “O’course. An’ I got a good idea too…”

She led him to a building, then left him in front of it with rapid instructions, then slunk off. He stood there, growling and snarling at any creature who came near. He even began to goad creatures into attacking him. Lone turncoat? They had no hesitation.

Morgan sheathed her dagger, and, after adjusting her bow, began to climb the side of the building. There were cracks in the old stone that she fit her claws into and used to haul herself up to the top. It took her about three minutes, tops.

She scrambled up onto the roof top, which was flat, slinking over to the side where Ravaark was. She leaned on one knee, bringing the bow over her shoulder and drawing an arrow out of her quiver as swiftly and silently as a drifting cloud. She drew the blue-flighted shaft back on the bowstring, taking slow, even breaths as she aimed. _It’s a good thing my fur’s black,_ Morgan thought distantly, _and that my cloak’s not as visible as Sirrius’._

_You guys better be okay._

Ravaark was fending off three creatures: A thick-furred Amurpard, a tall and ruddy-colored coyote hybrid, and a medium-sized female Tigon. Noticing the Amur take a small step back, Morgan made the string taut, then let a well-aimed arrow fly.

There was a shrieking howl as it pierced through the creature’s shoulder, and another yelp soon followed as an eager shaft struck the coyote in the leg. The Tigon was distracted, grappling with Ravaark, and didn’t notice her two companions limp away after another two shafts struck the ground in front of them as warning. Morgan relaxed slightly as she waited for more targets to appear.

Ravaark fought with the strange fierceness of a Vairrn, clawing and biting much more savagely than any wolf. The Tigon eventually got fed up with the claws and fangs puncturing her pelt, and (noticing her companions were gone), snarled and took off running.

He growled at her departure, looking like some wraith of night with his shoulders torn and bleeding, panting heavily with exhausted fury. He lifted a paw and gave Morgan a vague thumbs-up, unable to see the returned gesture up behind him. He tried to catch his breath, planning to rest while the opportunity presented itself.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

The spear slashed through the attacker’s shoulder, severing sinew and grinding sickly against bone. The wolfish brute backed off and ran, his pale gray fur rapidly darkening with blood. The honey-colored eyes had warned him not to come back. 

And he wasn’t about to risk his life over _one_ Dark Forester.

Laine eased a little, though he was still ready to strike, a growl in his throat and lips drawn back so that all his sharp teeth were on display. He stood in the doorway, blocking it with his body and a spear that had a wicked metal head, fighting off any who dared to come _near_ his home. He growled. _No one_ would hurt his son.

His ears twitched when he heard a door creak. He glanced halfway, so that the road was still in his peripheral vision, and growled, “Go back into th’ stairhall and _hide_ , Ni’lai!”

Fear radiated in his honey and green eyes as he obeyed his father and slipped back into into his hiding place and locked the door. The paternal ferocity in his father’s eyes was enough to convince Nicolai that, perhaps, everything would be all right.

Lai turned his attention back to the street filled with violence, only one thought burning through him.

He’d kill anyone who came near his son.

* * *

Sirrius walked the last stretch, saving her strength. Cool wind still whipped past her as the clouds frenzied in the darkened sky; the ominous rumble of thunder and increasing discharges of lightning still persistent despite the absence of rain. She followed the dirt path, unaware that it was the one Daniel had followed before, helping haul their unconscious bodies all those months ago. It was surreal; the land almost dark as night, tones of gray, blue, and darker green the most distinguishable of colors. She had returned her sword to its sheath when the enemies we nowhere to be seen. But even then, she knew it would take more than _her_ sword to face the enemy ahead. She didn’t have confidence that she would live, but she had hope that Darkness could be defeated, once and for all.

Sirrius kept walking, but when the Ruins came in sight, she veered to her left. After all, the crumbling castle wasn’t her destination.

There was a large space, almost rectangular in shape, with hard-packed stone and gray dirt as its floor. She wondered, long ago, if a building once stood there, too, but had been so ancient that its memory was only dust. Or perhaps it had been a place to train armies, back when it had been a flourishing kingdom with ten thousand rather than a measly hundreds. She had heard, when she was a prisoner in the Ruins, that Darkness went there whenever he left the Ruins. No one knew why. But something told her that he would be there today.

Footpaw stepping on the flat land, rain broke out with a few drops, instantly turning to a steady rhythm. She strode forward as she saw a figure. Stopping a good distance away, she stood, already drenched from the torrent. The figure turned. Unnatural eyes gleamed from the figure, a smile causing her to shudder. 

“ _Hello, Sirrius_.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fight! Fight! Fight!
> 
> Anyways, Truth Beneath The Rose by Within Temptation is what inspired this fight, _years_ ago.

_… Darkness leaned over and whispered something in her ear._

_“I know you and your friends are already planning to escape, which I won’t allow. Not that it matters. Because even if you did escape,_ **_Sirrius_ ** _, you wouldn’t be free of me. You never will; we share too much. Even if you went as far as you possibly could, and still ran further, I will always be there; that voice in your head, urging you to follow your darkest thoughts; that presence you feel when you fight to control yourself; that frightening feeling when you know you can’t. I will always be there, gloating. You can’t get rid of me - you’re a Jalf, just like I am, and I will make you like me.”_

_“You’re only escape is to kill me; and if you do, you will be stained with it.”_

His words from that day came back as they stood there, facing one another. The greeting was swallowed by the patter of rainfall.

He raised his paw a little, the soaked fur hanging limp on his arm. His claws were out. “Not going to greet me, little Jalf?” He ridiculed. He practically had to shout to be heard.

In response, Sirrius drew The Moonblade.

Darkness dropped any pretense of welcome along with his arm. “What do you expect from this?” He growled. “I am going to kill you, either way. What do you expect to accomplish?”

Her voice cut through like her sword. “To rid the world of at least one evil.”

It must have struck some sort of cord in him, for he became strangely angered. “You think you can do away with me? You think you can _kill_ me? Do you even _know_ what I _am_?!”

A flash of lightning momentarily blinded her, but she remembered that he had looked strange and hazy in its light. Like a figure of mist.

She recalled something Ravaark had once said.

_There’s rumors that Darkness is only an echo of himself._

_He’s not … ‘solid’ … not like you an’ me._

_… He’s_ made _of ‘darkness’._

As blinding spots left her vision, she saw the dark mist grow and change, rearing up as it did so with a terrible roar that vaguely reminded her of the Kodiak.

She wished it were the Kodiak.

The thing that was once Darkness was colossal, with a long neck and a muzzle that could likely snap her in two. Heavy set on four paws, each with claws like swords, every inch of it from presumed scales to its narrowed eyes the very same shadow of eternal emptiness. A fine mist like shadows radiated from it, and two wings arched from its shoulders. Its dark eyes held an impossible reflection, as though charged from the lightning, and they gazed at her with no known emotion. It was something she had heard of that was said to be dead. The predator from ancient days; more often than not a thing hungry, for more than just meat.

Before Sirrius stood a Dragon.

It roared again, vibrating the rain drops and shattering through the thunder. She gripped her sword tighter, but did not back down. 

She would fight him to the death.

A paw lashed out, heavy and unimaginably swift from the creature, and she had to roll and duck out of the way to avoid it. The tail lashed out seconds later, and she had to drop or risk disembowelment on its tip. When she recovered to a standing position, she saw it open its gaping maw, arching its neck threateningly, and without thought, she threw herself to the side. But no fire came out. A feint?

Another paw, the left this time, slashed towards her. But the rain made the ground slick, and she couldn’t avoid it when the claws nicked her shoulder, tearing through the flesh violently and staining her cloak. She fell to the ground, but when a paw came down, dark and deadly to crush her, she thrust her sword up and pierced through the scaly flesh, surprisingly easy. A blood-curdling scream issued from its throat, and she felt the blade tear backwards through flesh as it pulled its paw up, dark blood sliding down her sword. Scrabbling up suddenly, she jumped back to avoid the jaws, which clacked shut on the unoccupied space. The dragon reared its head back with a hissing-growl, buffeting shadow-cast wings until a wind was created that almost knocked her aside, and scattering her with rain. She braced herself as it tried to make fire again.

But it was only that: it tried.

_An echo…_

Pumping with adrenalin, she leapt away as another paw set out to crush her. More confident, she dodged most of the blows and recieved relatively minor wounds. A few jabs and slashes made their way through its own crushing blows as she fought with renewed energy. Rage and hope flared through her, a green fire, as she realized what _he_ really was.

_Darkness is only an echo; the dragon is merely an image! It can’t breath fire, nor fly, it’s not covered in armored scales - he only has a new shape!_

She dared to make an offensive move, darting forward to one paw as the other was brought up, slashing deep into the dark flesh, her ashen blade stained dark, then clean once more with the rain. Jumping back again with a following duck, she missed another deadly swipe, and received frustrated screams mingled with pain. She growled in satisfaction, then rolled away from yet another swipe.

_But how to kill him?_

Sirrius was contemplating this as instinct aided the dodges and slashes she herself administered. But so focused was she, that she didn’t see the tail whip towards her. A bruising smack to her abdomen knocked her to the ground, and she had to hold back a howl of pain. Dark edged her vision, and she almost let unconsciousness taker her - even welcomed it - but remembered her friends and home. They were all relying on her. She couldn’t leave them to the fate she saw looming over her. She would die only when he was gone.

Sirrius dragged herself up, heavy with sopping water, and barely dodged the claws. She let them get near, and, at the last minute, dodged along with a flesh-cutting swipe and a bone-piercing stab. Horrendous cries rang more often than thunder, her strikes more fearsome than the lightning. When that tail struck towards her again, she swung her blade hard and felt the jarring sensation of metal stabbing into bone. It almost was lost, stuck in its tail, and she had to heave her blade free, lest all be lost.

It grew more frustrated, and - although its wounds were nowhere near life-threatening - began to attack more erratically, its thoughts clouded with pain and fury. It was angry, and should have already won. It wanted this _thing_ gone; it wanted it over.

Stepping down close to its target, Sirrius was thrown to the ground again, in a shower of wet dirt and shale. She pulled herself up, seeing that it was going to lunge in mere seconds, intent to snap her in its jaws. A plan hastily formed in her mind, and barely even thinking, she darted towards it the same time that it lunged.

She avoided the jaws and ran, almost stumbling on the soaked ground. The neck arched above her, keeping the rain away. Energy courses through her. Judging the distance right, she gave an almighty leap and roared at the top of her lungs:

“ _Moonblaaaaade_ _!!!”_

The sword slid through its chest, down until the hilt hit its breast, running through until it entered part-way into the beast’s heart. It was enough, though, as it screamed to the sky and convulsions of death seized its body. Paws tightly gripping the hilt, and hindclaws trying to find purchase in the shadow-covered chest, Sirrius hung with all of her might as the dragon threw itself around. Collapsing with a mighty thud, it gave one last cry, then quieted.

Sirrius tugged her sword free with the last of her energy, falling the few feet to the ground and crouching there as the strength drained from her body. She watched as the form melted in the rain to a dark colored mist, that eventually dispersed, until there was no visible trace of Darkness’ existence to be seen.

_You’re full of darkness as much as I am._

_I will always be there…_

_How does it feel, to kill?_

Sirrius didn’t know when she collapsed in the still-pouring rain, nor when dark edged her vision, dragging her into the merciful quiet of unconsciousness. The only thing she vaguely registered, before the deep quiet took her, was some creature calling her name, the sound almost lost in the rain.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tail actually had slashed her bad across the chest/abdomen, and probably broke a rib or a few, but she’s kinda focused on the fight.
> 
> Basically, there are genetically special things about some hybrids. Sirrius has metal claws and is extremely determined, Daniel is fiercely protective to the point it’s scary - Darkness just got the weird bucket of basically shape shifting, but it’s called Echo-casting; he can project himself as a concept. Hence, dragon.
> 
> Fun fact, his birth name is Myyst, and he actually is both a melanistic wolf and melanistic Jaguar.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Up in our bedroom after the war by stars starts playing*
> 
> :3
> 
>  _Lift your head, and look out the window_  
>  _Stay that way for the rest of the day and watch the time go_  
>  _Listen, the birds sing_  
>  _Listen, the bells ring_  
>  _All the living are dead_  
>  _And the dead are all living_  
>  _The war is over; and we are beginning_  
>  ~Up In Our Bedroom After The War (by) Stars

It was almost two days before Sirrius woke up, though she didn’t know that.

She was in a strange bedroom, her cloak and sword missing. She noticed her shirt was gone as well; Her torso was almost completely covered white with bandages.

Still confused and groggy, she took a moment to look around.

It was a child’s room, with a little bed that her feet hung off of, and a window to let in the afternoon light. Gray-blue eyes scanned the room, seeing a little wooden chest open, toys popping up from its insides, and some books on a little shelf. Some children’s drawings hung on the wall, the figures familiar but escaping her memory. These were the things she could register. She sat up carefully, seeing a little faded red and blue circle rug on the floor. She felt tired.  


Looking around again, and this time behind her, she found her cloak and swordbelt (complete with sword) hanging on the edge of the bed’s headboard. She left them alone. Slowly getting up off the bed, she guessed she was on the second story of a building. It was something about the  _ clunk _ as her feet hit the floor. She brought herself to a standing position stiffly. Her injuries - especially the ones on her middle - still burned and were so sore that it hurt to move. Every breath was light and quick; her ribs ached.

But she was awake, and confused, and the  _ want _ of knowing was too strong to ignore. She stopped a moment, glancing out the window. Townsfolk moved around slowly, repairing what they could. It was a lot less than she expected to see, and that worried her.

Disregarding her tiredness, she made her way to the door and opened it. Then she used the handrail to make her way down the stairs that had greeted her.

She stopped to catch her breath as a door greeted her at the bottom. Boisterous voices drifted through, and she relaxed a bit. So _that’s_ where everyone was. She steeled herself before opening the door.

It was Laine’s Tavern, but from a view she’d never seen before: Looking out from behind the barcounter, she saw a motley assortment of customers celebrating, raising tankards and cheering outrageously. Lai was cleaning a mug and talking to Xev, who (although leaning awkwardly on the counter due to her injury) had a mischievous smile on her face. Two little ones - a russet-tinted Amurpard around Ni’lai’s age, named Nerra, and his younger brother, a tigerish creature with gray fur and black stripes named Tigg - were clinging to her legs, looking up at her wide-eyed. Sirrius wondered why they were with Xev. Her eyes flickered and caught on a different group of creatures. Daniel, Morgan, and Ravaark were there, trying to partake in the merriment, but seemed contrasted to the jolly atmosphere. One burly tiger leaned towards Daniel and said something, then laughed at Daniel’s shocked expression. Nicolai popped up off Morgan’s lap and started clapping and jumping, eager excitement upon his features. Sirrius’ three friends shuffled awkwardly as the tiger began a song that the other guests joined in with vigor.

“The Battle of Dark Forest!

Where we fought Darkness forces,

We made ‘em turn ‘n’ flee!

Yew an’ them an’ me!

The mighty Daniel Sunshard

Fought th’ fox, Aradacraz!

Death came upon a golden blade

And sheared through silver fur

No there’s a Captain no more,

His cruelty paid fer sure!

Then blackfox, Morgan Blueshaft,

Wit’ bow, arrers, an’ dagger blade;

Darkness’ evil forces

With their lives, they paid!

And strangewolf, Vairrn Ravaark,

Our fellow fer our cause;

Fearsome wit’ his spear,

An’ fangs an’ teeth an’ claws!

Side by side, Moonblade fought

With Sunshard’s deadly spite;

Gleaming whirlwinds they were

With blood in firelight! 

Now Sirrius The Moonblade played the part,

A brave heroine from th’ start;

Of t’ face Darkness, their deathly fate,

that leads to what we celebrate!

The Battle of Dark Forest,

That the Jalf has won!

With her frien’s and people

‘Tis a vict’ry well done!”

Much clapping and cheering followed after the song. Sirrius stood there, bewildered and unseen.

That is, until someone did spot her.

“ _ Look! Sirrius The Moonblade’s awake! _ ”

It was sudden: They all clamored around her, bombarding her with questions and congratulations. She was so overwhelmed that she backed into a wall, and kept trying, like she could melt through the wood. Eventually Lai threatened them back (though it did little) and Ni’lai brought her out, barking with laughter as he led her by the paw.

Her friends fought their way through to her; Morgan and Ravaark relieved, intent on hugging her, but Daniel got their first. He swept her up and hugged her tightly, loosening up when she gave a soft grunt of pain, but didn’t let go. A sheepish ‘sorry’ made its way between overwhelmed, soft threats that she ‘better not do somethin’ like that again’ and she had ‘no idea how  _ worried _ ’ they were. Morgan and Ravaark decided to make it a group hug, ignoring the Jalf’s suffocation and demands to know ‘what in  _ Arath  _ is going on?’ 

They were too happy to be together and alive for such nonsense.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also yes, Sirrius was willing to kill to protect herself and her family. But that doesn’t mean taking a life is pleasant, nor that it’s a good thing. But it doesn’t make her a bad person either. So her personal views in the future are that death should be avoided if it can be. Which plays somewhat into the sequel about her grandson.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohmygosh almost there.
> 
> Some of you may be wondering where their parents are, like, in general.
> 
> The protags are practically legal adults, aren’t super close to their family, and I personally come from a dysfunctional family and being shuffled around. So. Yeah.

After the Tavern cleared out ( _ “Git yer furry hinds outta here afore I kick ‘em!” “Quick afore Lia kills us!””Run boys, he’s got that spear!” _ ) and food along with drink was given, Daniel explained what he could to Sirrius, with Morgan and Ravaark’s help.

The storm had broken out just after Daniel had slain Aradacraz ( _ she didn’t miss the way he tensed _ ) and the Cyeetah had managed to bump into her mother, Breeze. Their families, along with Morgan’s, were sheltering with and guarding those unable to fight, all safe. After imparting the message, Breeze had hurried back, looking for any injured, even though she wasn’t well herself.

Morgan and Ravaark had eventually rejoined, and fought side-by-side; the Vairrn wolf had ‘acquired’ a spear, and alongside her dagger, they had given the Forces a good reason to leave. At one point she had apparently sat atop a roof above Ravaark, sniping with her bow. The battle got better from there.

The tide was especially turned when Ravaark’s brother, Vaarz, and his mate, Kelte’aine, convinced a group of soldiers to turn and fight for Dark Forest. Enough of those pressed into service (many, actually) hated the violent, bullying lifestyle they had been forced into. They were a great help.

(Apparently, after the battle, they left to settle somewhere else.  _ “There’s too much dark history,” _ Vaarz had said. He planned to settle no more than three days away, lest they ever need help again. Some creature called ‘Straug’ became his second in command.)

The news wasn’t all good, though; quite a few of the Forces had died, and even some of the Dark Foresters. Life wasn’t meant to be destroyed this way. It was especially disheartening to hear that Nerra and Tigg’s Parents had died. Their father had been a tiger-gray fox hybrid, with an orange pelt and dark gray stripes, and gold eyes, named Cyon, and their mother a slim Amurpard with jade green eyes called Cissa. Miche, the butcher (who no one knew if he was a bush dog or dingo), had died too. There were a few others Sirrius hadn’t known well, but they had been faces she had passed by before.

He had ended his explanation saying that the Forces had either been slain or run.

After that, healing began. Laying the dead, repairs, resting wounds. The four of them stayed with Laine, at his insistance. He had patched up Sirrius, amongst many others, and wasn’t keen on her leaving his sight. Xev stayed too. And Ni’lai slept in his dad’s bed at night.

Apparently Old Masonn had been grievously wounded. About a week later he woke up, and began to recover slowly. The first person he had asked to see was Sirrius, and refused to say anymore. She had agreed, of course; they spoke for many hours, and when she left him to rest, she was oddly silent and contemplative. Lai went to speak to the Blacksmith later.

Spring turned. Summer began.

One day - many days, it seemed, that became _after_ \- found Sirrius sitting on the log at their old training clearing. She tapped her hindpaw absentmindedly. She was thinking intensely on what Old Masonn had said; what he had tried to persuade her to do. She had as much time as she wanted to think about it, he said.

A sudden weight shifted the log and startled her. Whipping her head to her right, Sirrius saw Daniel, who gave her a sheepish smile. She sighed softly, and a comfortable silence rested between them. He waited, knowing she would speak when she wished. He reached out with his paw and she took it.

Eventually she spoke, her voice small.

“He wants me to become a Queen.”

The words hung for a moment, trailed by another short silence. He tilted his head curiously, eyes soft, but said nothing. It was his way of prompting her to speak again.

She took a deep breath, voice coming out a little strange. “He says there’s hist’ry of Dark Forest havin’ a Queen and/or King, an’ vice versa. Like Anastashia. He thinks part o’ the reason Darkness took over so easy was ‘cause we ‘adn’t a ruler fer a long time. If we ‘ad a strong ruler, maybe somethin’ like that wouldn’t happen again - at least in our lifetime.” She turned her head, eyes following a Fair Maiden flutter past on wings of old lace.

“Well,” Daniel began softly, watching her watch the butterfly. “Mayhaps that’s true. An’ the ruler would have to be strong and brave; kind, yet with the stern kind o’ fairness, an’ cares fer others more than he- _ their _ self. A real leader, which I-.” He paused a moment, hesitant, then said, “Which I think you are.”

She looked into his eyes and knew without a doubt, that he believed every word he said.

“It would be a long time; laws to set, things to learn. And. . .”

Sirrius gave his paw a squeeze, staring at the area where she - and her friends - had trained from childhood to her current state as a warrior and protector.   


A meeting in the snow. Seeing the Forces take someone for the first time. Learning to fight, and to think. Teasings. Warmth of love. Forging her own weapon. Different kind of love. Facing death. So much had changed.

She looked directly at him, no hesitation as she said:

“A good Queen needs a King.”

He chuckled at that. Pulled her in for a hug.

“Then  _ you  _ will be an  _ amazing _ ruler.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yea, she basically proposed lol.
> 
> So, for record.
> 
> Anastashia is credited as first queen of Dark Forest but lived there for a relatively short time. Many decades (or centuries) after she died, the Ruins were an actual castle of sorts and the town population was much larger. Something came up (probably sickness) that greatly reduced the population. Those that stayed saw no need for a ruler, and kept to the center town, so eventually the Ruins became the Ruins. Darkness came along quite a while after that and took over.
> 
> That’s why Dark Forest is technically a kingdom but calls itself a town. Them wanting Sirrius to be a leader is that they want to establish a form of order - guards, etc. - to protect from future threats. By time Rius is born this has pretty much all been established, even though the town barely numbers three hundred or so. Tiny kingdom.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Max cheese. But, I still love this story. I love these characters. And I am proud of myself.
> 
> Genetics are weird I’m gonna make a video maybe a post explaining what’s going on with that. Also grammar is different in their language.

It was quiet, after the last word was spoken.

  
The three young creatures looked up at their grandmother for a moment, then they began asking questions, one over the other.

“What was it like to kill Darkness?”

“Why would ye ask that? - Were there any other adventures Grandma?”

“What happened after?”

“Did - ?”

Their grandmother - who was, in fact, Sirrius - gave a deep-throated growl for silence. Gray-blue eyes, both ancient and young, looked at them sternly.

“One at a time, little ones. Rius,” the odd-male sat up at the sound of his name.  _ Ree-oose _ . She continued, voice softer, “There is  _ never _ a good reason to slay another, nor is it a good feeling. Although I do not regret or mourn over Darkness’ death - for I believe that he truly had to die - I regret I had to take a life, that a life even had to be taken. Do you understand?” Rius nodded.

“Now Samuel,” She directed at the male twin. The little lion looked at her with eager amber eyes, a touch too round to be lion-like. She chuckled. “Of course there were other adventures, too numerous to count. There was a time Daniel an’ I traveled Northwards, an’ little Mordi tagged along. Yer father is such a trouble maker.”

The she-hybrid fidgeted excitedly, earning a glare from her twin. Her grandmother said, “To answer yer question, Sam’tha, there were  _ alot _ of things that happened after.

Daniel and I got married about two years later, and Old Masonn got the people to convince us to take up rulership - we became Queen and King. Not that I ever use that stupid title; and your grandfather made it clear he wouldn’t allow people to call him ‘King Daniel’. Old Masonn directed both ceremonies. Not  _ that _ long after, your father, Mordecai, was born. The little troublemaker! Old Masonn passed on after yer father an’ mother were married.” Sirrius grew wistful for a moment, muttering, “He would have loved you three.”

She shook her head slightly and continued. “Now, Morgan and Ravaark married after us. They never gave birth to any children, but adopted yer Uncle Urekk when we traveled through the forest of the Treecats on our way Northwards - I’ll tell ye about that one another time.

We camped in the Ruins quite a bit after it had been abandoned, but never lived there. An’, lessee-”

She was cut off when the door opened with a loud creak, and a male hybrid entered the room, exclaiming, “Hi Mom! Kids!” The three threw themselves on their father, and Sirrius gave her son a smile.

Mordecai Azariah was a strange mix of his father and his mother - tall as his father with the same feline ears and general shape, but his mother’s spots and bushy tail. His paws and muzzle were darker, too, and he had his mother’s eyes (though a darker shade). He carried two daggers, and was known as Mordecai Twinblades as a warrior.

He held Sam’tha and Rius in each arm, and Samuel clung to his leg. He nuzzled each one and laughed.

Mordecai nodded to Sirrius. “Thanks fer watchin’ them. Ni’lai and I were over helpin’ Xev fix a roof - she may be older now, but she ‘as as much fire as Old Missus Finsche did.”   


“Daddy!” “Dad! Grandma told us a story!” “Were you really a troublemaker?”   
  
More questions and exclamations clamored out, and he looked at his mother, eyes narrowed with humor.

“What story did you tell ‘em this time.”

She got up from the armchair (that had once been Old Masonn’s) a littler slowly, with a chuckle. Lifting her Moonblade from the wall as she spoke, she pointed it down and leaned on it, a grin that spoke of older days on her face.

“I told them a story of their inheritance; words that unknowingly to them, weaved thier history into the days they know now.”

Mordecai grinned, knowing immediately what story she was implying. Too bad his father had been busy with Chairm’s nephew; Daniel would have loved to tell it with her.

“An’ what would that be?”

Sirrius, leaning upon her Moonblade, winked at him.

“Oh, I merely told them a tale.”

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Reading and Writing, everyone.


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